Fallen
by Azraeos
Summary: HpBuffy crossover. It seems the Department of Mysteries really is the Department of Mysteries. This story is now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon.

A/N: I'm having kind of a Drabble palooza going on in my head at the moment. I've got all these ideas that I think would make great fics, but I'm just too busy to write them in the proper length they deserve. Hence the drabbles.

Incidentally, just to contradict myself, I'm not sure if this is actually a drabble. It might be a cross between a one-shot and a drabble. In any case I hope you enjoy.

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**Fallen**

She'd been cheering him on, mostly cause he was the one closest to her, but he never did manage to duck in time.

The red shiny light shot out from that wiggy woman's wand (and Buffy knew it was a wand cause . . . well, cause it looked like one, what with the pointing and the waving and the magic) and hit his chest. Straight on. Full. It looked like it might have hurt, but it must have just knocked him out, what with him closing his eyes and all.

Buffy didn't even attempt to catch him because a) she couldn't physically step out from behind the curtain and b) she couldn't physically step out from behind the curtain.

Next thing she knew he was there. With her. Behind said curtain.

He looked like a vamp.

That was the very last thought Buffy had before she was being sucked _through_ the curtain; the curtain that she wasn't supposed to ever step out of. The curtain that Buffy knew she was never supposed to step out of because she had _tried_ to for three damn months — with no results. Now all of a sudden, just because one strangely under-nourished guy got pushed through, she could get out?

Well . . . obviously she could because she was now on the outside looking _at_ the curtain, which she couldn't see through anymore. It was just an ordinary black curtain ― surrounded by a stone arch.

Okay.

Weird.

She looked around.

And blinked.

The battle that had been going steady for the past five minutes had stopped. The kid that had been screaming and crying since that vamp guy had taken her place behind the curtain had finally stopped screaming and crying. The wiggy woman who'd sent him there and her Skeletor compatriots had stopped tossing around spells, as had their opponents.

Buffy knew it was more on account of her than anything Gandalf guy had done. Even though he'd just performed some really serious magic on those Skeletor dudes. More magic than she'd seen even Willow do at her best.

"Uh . . . hi?" she waved awkwardly. "You guys wouldn't happen to know where the nearest phone is, would you?"

The faces stared at her in silence.

"Guess not."

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A/N: I thought that was very cliff-hanger of me to end it like that. But as I said, it's sort of half drabble half one-shot.


	2. Fallen once more

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy or Harry Potter. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Joss Whedon, respectively.

A/N: By popular demand, this once drabble has now turned into a story with an actual plot. Mind you, it probably won't be a long story.

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**Fallen once more**

Three months had passed by the time the commotion in the, what Buffy now knew to be termed Department of Mysteries chamber, had finally abated. The Newspaper printed stories of innocent murderers and illegal shape-shifters . . . for a while. Now that was past, and vamp guy, Sirius, was well and truly dead in the eyes of the public. Instead, a new story had arisen, one of a dark lord.

Buffy's existence in their world was stored in the deepest darkest pit of wrapdom . . . and then set on fire and tossed in the nearest waste disposal. No one outside certain people (mainly, those that had witnessed her not-so-spectacular arrival through the arch) knew of her.

It had also been three months since she'd killed her first human.

Blood.

Bone.

Ribs.

Head.

Hair. Black.

_God, I don't wanna think about it._

". . . to sign here. The wizarding world is terribly sorry for the inconvenience but you are magical creature, Miss Summers, and a new breed besides. As you no doubt know by now, the charges for the, er, murder have been dropped ― but only because the victim was an escaped Death Eater, and that is the only reason. You have done us a tremendous gratitude and we, in turn, offer you one. Please, Miss Summers, if you are not formally registered with the Ministry of Magic before eleven o'clock today, then on your own head be it."

Buffy blinked. "I understand," she said slowly.

The bespectacled man blinked. Actually, he reminded her of Giles . . . kinda. Maybe it was just the glasses?

He cleared his throat. "Now, under 'Slayer' is it?"

"Vampire Slayer, actually," she corrected.

He blinked again.

Buffy tried to smile but felt it turn into a grimace. "That's my official title. Vampire Slayer. The Chosen One."

"Right. And, er, you would prefer 'Vampire Slayer' over 'Slayer' I take?"

"_The_ Vampire Slayer," she corrected. "There's only one of me."

After all, it was the truth, wasn't it? She was the only one of her kind here, in this world. No Kendras or Faiths for Buffy. She was all by herself. There would be no more slayers after her death either, she was sure.

There were no Willows either.

Or Xanders. Or Dawns. Or Giles's. Or Taras. Or Anyas. Or Angels.

Nope.

Buffy palmed the quill, and a little awkwardly signed the official document. She watched as it disappeared with a small _puff_.

"It's gone to the archives now." The wizard stood up, extended his hand. She shook it. "Thank you very much for your cooperation, Miss Summers. The Ministry is much appreciated."

Buffy nodded, and left.

xxxxx

"Good morning, my dear."

"Professor," Buffy greeted, then turned back to watch the dawn.

Dawn. The only part of her sister Buffy still had left.

Her namesake.

"Do you know, that I have never known there to be anything special about this particular spot, except that the view is quite spectacular. But then, the same can be said for the rest of the school."

Buffy smiled. "I'll never get tired of it. Never."

She felt, more than saw him sit on the ledge. Their shoulders brushed and Buffy held onto that small bit of human contact.

God she was so alone.

And pathetic.

"You will always be welcome here, Buffy."

She turned to look into those blue eyes. "I know, it's just . . . what am I doing here?"

Those eyes crinkled. "I imagine, my dear, though forgive me if I am wrong, that you appear to be sitting."

Buffy smirked. "Again with the wisecrack jokes . . . you know what I mean. What am I doing here? In this world? Existing? You guys don't need a slayer. Heck, you've got the seriously cool mojo working for you. A whole community of wand-waving magic people. God," she laughed, a little bitterly, "you don't need me. Nobody does. Not here . . . I don't need me."

She heard a sigh; it was long, tired, and drawn out. "The Order needs you, Buffy."

"You know, I only joined to give me something to do, yet, here I am doing nothing."

"I realise you're feeling a little, distressed ―"

"More than a little!"

"― but you must understand. This world is not like yours, despite its similarities. Yes, there is magic, and yes there is a hidden community within the confines of the 'ordinary' world, but it is there that the similarities stop. Your 'other' world posses demons, abominations of life or un-life . . . and it was your duty to dispose of them. You had something to do to keep you busy. Did you not tell me that on most nights of the week you were prone to 'patrolling'. And that only because you lived on the 'mouth of hell'?

"You know, that's probably the classiest description of my job anyone has ever given."

The professor smiled. "Buffy, the darkness of Voldemort and his followers is not so great a threat. He does not wish to end the world, as your demons do. He wishes to control it. Therein lies the difference, and it is incredibly large."

"You know, you're kinda cool . . . in that _venerable old guy with the funky robes_, kind of way."

"I'm glad you think so."

They basked in pleasant silence, watching the last rays of the dawn fade into pure sunlight.

"So," Buffy began, "I'm still not allowed to kill your vamps?"

Her friend chucked. "For the thirty-sixth time, no, you must not. They have souls, Buffy, and no demon."

"Darn," she pouted.

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	3. Fallen Again

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone.

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**Fallen again**

The portkey Dumbledore had given her almost made Buffy throw up. And not in that whole spinning twisting way, but in that _Oh my God, I'm willingly holding a fish-head_, kind of way.

After five months of living with Dumbledore, Buffy had to concede that she still wasn't used to him.

After five months in their world, Buffy had to concede that she was getting used to it . . . sorta.

Sighing, she looked around.

_No. Oh no. Not again._

A village.

A little village.

A little European village. A village where the locals still lived under thatched roofs and thought that the way to a healthy lifestyle was 16 kittens on a winter Monday on the couch.

God, she needed a life. Fast.

She'd spent too much time in towns like these over the past couple of weeks. She "saved" some people, got thanked, then, as a bonus, invited in for lunch. Or dinner, whatever the case. Of course, Buffy couldn't say no.

That would be rude.

She didn't even know what she was doing here, anyway. According to Dumbledore, there was already a witch living here. She wasn't needed.

Or so she'd thought.

Also according to Dumbledore, most magic people didn't know how to defend themselves. So, it was Buffy's job to do it for them.

Night in Bragadobra was a little eerier and creepier than Buffy was used to. Sunnydale, after all, held an array of artificial lights and lamps and those little square things on the roads that help you see your way better.

No such things in this village.

For one, the people, muggles, were too poor to afford extra electrical outlets. For another . . . well they were just too poor.

And coming from a place where even the crypts in the cemeteries had the occasional overhead, Buffy thought it was way dark. Way.

"Better go find him, then."

She knew. She could sense it. She could sense better then she ever had in her own world. And she could sense now, at this moment, that there was a vamp nearby.

Oh, she knew she wasn't supposed to _kill_ them. They weren't that bad. They had their own wizard candy, for God's sake! Yes, they had souls, yes, they had no demon, but also yes, they followed their baser instinct. And that was to feed.

Of course, they didn't kill when they fed. God, if they did, she was sure the wizards would swoop down on them before they could squeak _bat_!

In fact, they usually didn't even feed on humans, preferring the safer route of small woodland animals instead.

Some of them didn't follow this rule. And when they didn't, it was Buffy's job to take care of it. She didn't kill them, though. Just handed them over to the Ministry.

What the Ministry did to them . . . well Buffy didn't know, but considering the prejudice against anything other than purebloods in this world, she was pretty sure that her vamps ended up dead anyway.

Or cabbaged.

There was a certain ick-factor about having to eat cabbage for the rest of eternity.

Or was it lettuce?

Beyond cruel either way.

As long as Buffy didn't have to kill them outright, then that was all right.

She never liked killing souled creatures. Or Beasts, as the Ministry termed them.

Buffy was under Beast. _Vampire Slayer comma The_. Registered alongside giants and trolls and vampires and werewolves.

She was a beast.

Funny, she didn't smell like one.

A beast capturing beasts to give to other beasts ― namely the Ministry.

So much unnecessary hassle.

Well, what could she expect? Wasn't like the vamps exploded upon stakage. Nope. There was no satisfying dust in the wind here. There was also no satisfying spontaneous combustion. Vamps here could go out in sunlight if they wanted. But they generally preferred not to. Something about it hurt their eyes.

Sighing once more, Buffy walked in the direction of the alley between two little cottages. The vamp was there. He felt hungry. And a little, ashamed? Or so her spidey sense was telling her.

She ran . . .

. . . and froze.

There wasn't just a vamp. There was a woman. Or, the precise term, a witch.

She was huddled against the left wall, wand raised.

The vampire was looking like Christmas had come early.

Apparently, wizard blood to them was like was like an All You Can Drink party to alcoholics.

They just couldn't help themselves sometimes. Especially if they hadn't had their monthly meal.

She really didn't want to find out what slayer blood would do.

"D-d-don't move, creature!" the woman screeched.

At least, that's what Buffy assumed she'd screeched. The slayer wasn't really fluent in Romanian. But she was getting better.

"Why don't you ―?" Buffy began.

Red light. Bright.

The witch had cast a spell.

The vampire ducked.

Buffy was too surprised to.

It hit her; the same spell that had struck Sirius all those months ago.

The spell that had been cast by another witch. A witch that Buffy had killed all those months ago.

It bounced off.

That was it.

The red had hit her, then bounced off her chest.

She'd felt nothing.

Absolutely no pain. It was like she'd never been hit at all.

"Oh!" The woman gaped.

The vamp gaped. Then ran.

Buffy ran too.

xxxxxxx

"This is so great! Your magic doesn't affect me. I could help out way more now. I don't have to be the sulky pathetic Buffy with no life anymore. I could―"

"You were never sulky and pathetic, Buffy."

"Professor, did you see me? I was neglecting my hair, for God's sake. Trust me, when I say I was sulky and pathetic, I really was."

A smiled threatened. "I will concede to your judgement . . . but only because you know yourself better than I do."

She smiled and sank down in the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. "You have no idea . . . I mean, just imagine it. Me, on the field. D.E's throwing curses, none of which can get me. And then there's old Voldy ―"

"Buffy, you cannot guarantee that your body can protect against all curses. Admittedly, the stunning spell is one of the more powerful ones, but what about dark magic?"

Buffy visibly deflated. "I suppose . . . but I've always been a beacon for good, right? Not just a beacon, but a weapon. I was chosen by the Powers that Be, or God, or whoever. _That_ might protect me, right? Oh, I don't know!"

"I do not want you to be in a position to find out," he said firmly.

He was right, of course. She couldn't just walk out onto the field and step in front of a pain curse with the uncertain hope that she would be unaffected. Not to mention the killing curse. If there was some way she could ― "You!"

Blue eyes blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Professor, you could cast it on me. The Cruciamemtum Curse, or whatever. Cast it! Come on, make with the wand-waving!"

Buffy knew he wouldn't agree as soon as she saw that long beard swing from side to side. It was testament to how nutty his style was; that she noticed his beard swaying before she noticed the head movement. "Even if I could, I would never cast that curse on anyone."

"What do you mean 'even if you could'?"

The fingers of his good hand weaved through his chard ones. "I do not know how to cast it," he said simply.

Buffy knew was gaping. "But, but you're the greatest wizard ever!"

He chuckled. "Perhaps not, Buffy."

"You so are!" she protested. "And what do you mean, you don't know? You have to know. You're the one who told me about it."

"Only those who have hate in their hearts can cast dark curses, Buffy."

"Oh." She should have known that. "Right."

"Do not despair. Even if you end up in the middle of a battle, you are still too fast for wizards to target."

"I guess." Buffy supposed Dumbledore was right, as usual. She was faster; way faster than other people. Heck, she could run thirty-five miles per hour for seven hours straight. She was darn fast. That was as fast as a horse.

She hadn't been faster than Glory, though. Nothing had been faster than Glory.

Well, maybe a race car.

If only she'd had one of those . . .

". . . could ask Severus Snape, but I seriously object to this. I only mention it because you are entitled to know. I am not your keeper. If you wish to explore the full boundaries of your resistance, I can only help."

_Ew_. "Why him? Oh, don't tell me. Sir Sneers-a-lot has a heartful of hate, thus, he is the only one qualified who could possibly help?"

"In short, yes."

Buffy sighed. "If it's my only option . . ."

xxxxxxx

Christmas at the Burrow was . . . well it was something. Buffy just wasn't sure what yet.

Fred or George, whichever one, had somehow discovered that Buffy was immune to all magics, even their candy kind, and had taken to cursing her as a joke, just to watch the phenomenon that was the curse bounce harmlessly off. The only problem being that the bat (booger?) hex had ricocheted off the ceiling after it had struck Buffy's head, in turn striking their younger sister's.

Molly Weasley screeched. The twins joked. Everyone else watched.

She sat on the couch, making sure that her robes didn't get tangled in her feet again. There would be no trippage for Buffy today.

The robes had taken a while getting used to, but if she didn't want to be stared at, then she had to wear them.

They were cool . . . you know, if you were into all the Middle Age stuff. Which Buffy wasn't.

Mentally shaking her head, she looked to the armchair opposite her.

Green eyes collided with green.

The brighter green looked away first.

Buffy did too, after a moment.

She was ever conscious of him.

The other Chosen One.

He wasn't a slayer. That would have been too wiggy, even for her.

But he was prophecy child.

Just like she'd been.

Buffy thought he kind of resented her. After all she was here, and his godfather was in there, where she had been. Buffy had tried the old switcheroo again, after she'd killed . . . well whatever, but maybe it only worked with live people, because Sirius had not come out.

He was never anything but polite, but . . .

"You guys have homework for the holidays?"

The green eyes snapped back to hers. Locked. "Not for Christmas."

She laughed. "Right. Wouldn't do for brain overload."

The corner of his lip twitched.

Buffy had discovered that that trait of his only happened when he didn't want to smile, but did at the same time. His lips sort of met halfway to appease both sides of his conscience. Like, if he smiled fully, he'd start to not resent her, and he couldn't have that.

Buffy never gave up, though.

And not just because Dumbledore had asked her to keep an eye on him. Nope. Buffy did it all for herself.

Maybe he reminded her of Dawn, with his large, ready-to-take-on-the-world eyes. Eyes that expressed everything. Maybe she felt kind of guilty for the whole situation with Sirius and the arch. Maybe because he was alone, an orphan, like she was now. Whatever it was, Harry had slowly crept into her heart and taken Dawn's place. And Buffy had grabbed onto that with everything she had. She'd needed someone. Someone to pick on and yell at.

She needed a sibling.

Of course, said pseudo sibling didn't need her. Didn't need anyone. Well, maybe his friends, but they were an exclusive group. You had to be a certain age.

Buffy suddenly felt old.

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_Muggy. Stifling. No air. No breath. Tight. Too tight. _

_Constricted._

_Eyes popped open._

Where . . .?

. . . am I?

_Tried moving._

_Constricted._

_Boxed in._

_Tried banging. Above._

_Smash._

_Creak._

_Blood._

_Dirt._

_Lot's of dirt._

_Needed air._

_Climb. _Climb. CLIMB

_Air. Lungs. So good._

_Slumped. _

_Rest. _

_For a little bit._

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	4. Fallen Up

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon.

A/N: All the reviews were wonderful. Thank you to everyone.

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**Fallen Up**

The rest lasted a few moments, no more.

The grogginess . . . not fading. _Not fading. Make it go away! Too blurry._

Stood . . .

. . . fell back down, not understanding.

Balance lost.

Why was the balance lost? Why was the balance lost?

Looked down at feet.

_Heels?_

Never remembered wearing heels. . . .

. . . but did remember. Once upon a time . . .

What was going on?

Stood once more.

The balance returned.

_Sigh._ Good. Very good.

Turned head.

_BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS_

_1981-2001_

_BELOVED SISTER_

_DEVOTED FRIEND_

_SHE SAVED THE WORLD_

_A LOT_

Headstone?

There was something familiar about . . . Buffy?

Was that the name? _Girl?_

Head shook.

Ran.

xxxxxxxxxxx

More grogginess.

Blurry.

Too much fire. There was too much fire.

Why was there too much fire?

RUMBLE!

Instinct. _Leap back!_

A _thing_, roared passed . . . on a motorcycle?

_Motorcycle?_

Flash — a flash of memory.

Head shook.

xxxxxxxx

Flash. Blur. Fuzzy.

Needed to rest.

Car.

WAIL!

LIGHTS!

TOO BRIGHT. TOO LOUD.

Leaped back.

Car. Making noise.

Cars making noise?

Alive!

"What are you doing here?"

Head snapped.

Blurry. Couldn't see.

Squint.

Man carrying . . . metal wand?

Metal wand? No, that wasn't the name. No ― gun. That was it. Muggle carrying a gun.

"Get away from there!"

Squint.

"Do you hear me? I said get off my property!"

Squint.

"Leave us alone! Get outta here!"

_Bang!_

Jumped. Ran.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Walking.

Burning.

Fire everywhere.

Not understanding.

Hell?

Remember. Remember. Remember. Remember. Remember.

Looked ahead.

Things. Lots of things . . . demons? Yes. That was the name. Demons.

Growls. "Gentlemen, start your engines!"

Engines start. Demons move.

Part ways.

Figure. Small.

Gasp . . . _who?_

Buffy!

The girl was Buffy. He knew that somehow.

But she was dead.

Another Growl. "Bye-bye, Slayer!"

The girl looks, spots him, mouths, "Buffy."

_Why would Buffy mouth Buffy?_

He took a little step.

_Bang!_

Bikes move. Fast.

He saw the chains.

Processed . . .

"NO!"

But too late.

Too late.

Demons turn, hearing. Looking. Disbelieving. Accepting.

"Another one for the fire, boys!"

He shook his head, understanding.

"Tear it up!"

He ran.

Tripped.

Why did he trip?"

Looked down.

Heels? Again?

He took them off.

Demons surrounded him. Tried to hurt him. He knew, somehow, what to do.

A chain whipped. He caught it, whipped back.

The demon stepped back, scared.

He ran.

xxxxxxxxxxx

More followed.

He leaped over a fence.

How . . .?

Slayer.

Yes. He was a slayer.

_What is a slayer?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

He jumped.

Landed.

"Watch it!"

He rose.

People. Familiar.

Why were they familiar?

"It, it's the Buffy Bot."

"Ah, peachy. No doubt to lead the wild bunch right to us again. Hey Will, next time this thing's damaged, couldn't ya programme it to find the nearest Radio Shack, or . . ."

Silence.

Red hair. _Lily._ ". . . Buffy?"

He turned away.

Head shook.

No, no, no, no. Couldn't be. Lily was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. He had seen the body.

Was he going mad?

Azkaban. Yes. He was in Azkaban.

Mad? He was. Mad.

Dementors outside. Wait for them to pass.

She had called him Buffy.

Buffy was dead.

The demons had killed her.

No, something else . . . something else.

_Energy! Tower!_

He ran.

"Buffy!"

"Buffy!"

Wall. He crouched.

Lily moved . . . no, not Lily. Lily was dead.

But . . . red.

A tree.

Tree?

Willow tree.

Some wands were made of willow trees.

"Buffy? Buffy, are you . . .?"

He refused to look.

He wouldn't.

"It's Willow. Can you hear me?"

"What's wrong with her?"

_Her?_

"Nothing! She's―she's in shock."

"Her hands are bleeding. Her fingers."

_Bleeding?_

He looked down.

Yes. They were.

Despite that . . . despite that . . .

Small.

His fingers were small.

Why were they small?

They had never been this small before, not since he was a child.

"Oh, she's filthy."

"Oh, no."

"What?"

"No, how could we have been so stupid!"

"Xander—!"

"Our spell! Our resurrection spell worked like a magic charm. We brought you back to life, Buffy . . . right where we left her."

"Oh, God."

"In her coffin."

_Coffin?_

Yes . . .

_Boxed in. Couldn't breath. Suffocated. Creak. Dirt. More dirt. Climb. CLIMB._

Coffin.

He'd been in a coffin.

He gasped. Choked. Gasped.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

Boy. Leans. Crouches. "Buffy. Buffy, it's Xander. We're sorry. We didn't know . . . Buffy."

_Buffy?_ No, he wasn't Buffy.

He wasn't.

He was Sirius.

Sirius Black.

He was Padfoot.

_What is Padfoot?_

"You aren't reaching her, she's too traumatised."

_Trauma?_

Azkaban.

Yes. He was mad. In Azkaban. Mad. Dementors outside.

He was not Buffy Summers.

Summers.

Dawn Summers.

Key. Glory. Tower.

Joyce Summers.

Dead.

Dead mother.

_Mommy?_

No, no, no! Walburga! Painting. Stupid old hag!

"_. . . filthy werewolves in the ancient House of Black!"_

Remus.

Moony.

Marauders.

James.

James Potter.

_Potter. _

Harry!

Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry.

Harry Potter.

Harry James Potter.

Godson. His godson. Sirius's godson.

Harry was tricked.

Ministry.

Bellatrix.

Red light.

Stunner.

_Stunner?_

" . . . ander and I have an announcement."

"Anya!"

"What? Just trying to help."

"Buffy, it's gonna be all right. We brought you back. You're home now."

Sirius looked.

The boy smiled. "Yeah, that's it. You're home."

Growls. "Alive and kickin' after all!"

Demon.

Slayer. He was a slayer.

A slayer of demons.

No. Not him. Buffy. Buffy was a slayer . . . and he was Buffy.

He knew what to do.

He had to slay.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

He stood on the tower . . .

. . . and remembered.

Everything.

He was Sirius Black, not Buffy Summers. Not the Slayer. But somehow . . . somehow he had memories; lingering remnants of a body long deserted by the soul.

A soul that was now somewhere else.

A soul that was not his own.

But for the time being, this was his body.

His soul in somebody else's body.

A _girl's_ body.

A slayer's body.

He wasn't even sure what that meant.

He should have been, because of the memories, but he wasn't.

He didn't think the original host had been too sure on that either.

He wondered who it was that had made such a horrid mix-up.

He was supposed to be dead.

He distinctly remembered fighting, fighting in front of the veil. Bellatrix's curse.

Harry's screaming.

Yes. Harry had been screaming.

Sirius's position should have guaranteed that he would fall back into the veil.

Perhaps he had?

He was in a different world, after all. He knew this from the memories.

Perhaps he hadn't fallen through the veil after all? Perhaps the real Buffy was now dead as well, and residing in his body?

If that were the case . . . he felt a little better. That would mean some part of him at least was alive. Some part of him that would continue to love and look after Harry.

"Buffy?"

He turned.

Dawn.

Buff–_his_, sister.

For the time being.

"Buffy . . . how?"

The girl looked amazed. Incredulous. Well, why not? Sirius would have fainted if James had suddenly turned up after being dead. The girl, Dawn, was coping quite well he thought. He had to commend her.

"I-is it you . . .? I mean, really?"

She smiled, came closer.

Sirius couldn't lie to her.

"No."

She faltered. "W-what?"

He held up a hand. "Please listen to me . . . Dawn. I understand that some sort of resurrection ritual has occurred ―"

"What d'you mean?" she froze, eyes wild. "What r-ritual? Why are you sounding all British? Just come down from there. Please, Buffy." She took a step.

The tower shook dangerously.

Dawn squealed and grabbed on to the nearest pole.

Although Sirius knew that if he were to fall from the tower he would likely survive thanks to his new slayer body, the same could not be said for Dawn.

Explanations would have to wait.

"Buffy," she began.

Sirius ran forward and grabbed her arm. "Come on! We're getting out of here."

A piece of the tower fell as Dawn shrieked.

He spotted a pulley with a rope looped in it.

Perfect.

He lifted the kid and, trying not to think about how mental it was to actually attempt this, jumped. Grabbed hold. Swung.

He had done it!

Never had he felt such accomplishment. Not even when he'd first completed the animagus transformation.

This body held such power. He was incredibly strong. Unbelievably strong. Dawn weighed nothing at all. He thought if he tried, he could lift a Hagrid. Perhaps two Hagrids. Three!

Dawn screamed as they plummeted.

Despite the dizzying height and the speedy fall Sirius did not feel any fear. He attributed this to the memories. He knew what feats this body was capable of.

They would survive.

They landed jarringly on their backs.

The tower began to collapse.

Eyes widening, Sirius grabbed hold of Dawn and ran, ushering her along as fast as she was able to go. He knew he could have gone a lot faster by himself. There was no strain on his muscles, despite the fact that this body had only recently been rotting under the ground.

He wondered at that, but didn't question it.

Around the corner they collapsed once more.

Dawn sat up and looked at him.

_Oh no._

_Poor kid._

"Buffy?" she smiled tentatively.

Sirius did nothing.

That was a mistake.

She hugged him, crying. "You're really here. Buffy. You're really here."

Sirius did the only thing he could ― hug her back.

The explanations would have to wait.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Will they be able to, you know, sense me?" Not giving the man beside her a chance to open his mouth, she continued. "I mean, not in the whole, I'm-a-tasty-nutritious-snack, way but in the, I'm-not-really-one-of-them, way."

He paused. "I don't think they will, no. Ever since I first saw you . . . well I have never thought of you as a snack. Far from it."

"I just don't give off that kind of vibe, huh?"

"You were joking just now, but actually no, you don't. Your, 'vibe', as you put it is very predatory. In fact ― never mind."

Bemused at his blushing, she prodded. "What?"

"It doesn't matter," he mumbled.

"Oh come on, Remus. What's with the pink face? I've never known you to blush. You're like, the master of blank expression."

He laughed. "I _think_ I feel complimented."

"So? Spill."

He breathed. "All right, if you must know . . . I felt like falling at your feet and, er, begging."

Huh?

"Huh?"

He blushed even more. "Of course I don't feel the urge now. But you have to understand that you're very alpha, Buffy, and to a werewolf you are the Ultimate Alpha. There's a presence about you. You are a predator. More so than me, even. More so than any other werewolf. We can sense that. Believe me, when you enter that clearing no one will think any differently."

"So, all I have to do is challenge Freddy Greyback and everyone else will fall in line."

He grimaced at her nonchalance. "In theory, yes . . . but I can't believe you agreed. I trust him absolutely, but in this instance, what was Professor Dumbledore thinking?"

"Hey," she stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. "I'm the Slayer. Remember? I did this kind of thing all the time back in my world. I even fought a few werewolves. And won. This is my job."

"Yes but some of the werewolves know magic ― oh yes," he corrected at seeing her smile, "you're immune. How could I forget?"

"Easily," she said simply. "It's the way I look. So fragile. Confused the heck out of all the demons back home. At least those that didn't know about me, or my reputation."

"I can imagine."

They continued walking, the soft crunch of their shoes on dry wood and foliage the only sound greeting them in the still forest. She thought how nice it was to finally connect to someone on a slayery level.

Remus had, no doubt, become her best friend.

He had just lost his and she had just lost all of hers when Buffy had first come out of the veil. It had taken them many months to find a common ground, a common bond. He had been too intimidated by her, Buffy knew, and she had been feeling a little awkward; what with his best friend taking her place behind the arch, and her being a little anti-social in not wanting to talk with anyone but Dumbledore, who had always reminded her so much of Gandalf.

Gandalf was cool.

Hence, Dumbledore was cool.

The coolness that was Remus . . . well Buffy had discovered that after. Way after.

Never too late, though.

"Sooooo," she began.

"Drop it."

She couldn't believe it. "I didn't even say anything."

"You didn't have to. I know that tone. It's your meddling tone."

"I do not meddle!"

She noted the lifted brow.

"Okay, maybe I do. But only when it concerns someone I really care about. Especially if it has anything to do with their welfare."

"Werewolves aren't allowed to have welfares."

"You just had to throw that in, didn't you?"

There were some things she hated about this world, and this was one of them. At least in her world, not many people knew about werewolves because they didn't know about anything supernatural. Here, most werewolves were potential wizards so they couldn't function outside of wizard society, not knowing about anything muggle. But they also couldn't function inside wizard society . . . well, she supposed technically they could but not without something being thrown at them. Like a sneer. Or, even on one occasion, a large dish of treacle pudding. It was unfair on both counts.

"You know what I'm hedging on," she said quietly.

"I know."

"I want you to be happy. God, you're the nicest person in the world, Remus! Why shouldn't you be allowed to fall in love? It's obvious to anyone with eyes that Tonks is crazy for you. She's perfect. I know you think so."

He looked down. "I'm too old for her."

Buffy laughed. "Uh, need I remind you? My first boyfriend had a bicentennial ― and an extra quarter! Just go for it."

He sighed.

Buffy felt ashamed. "O-okay, I'll drop it. Promise. But if you need any help on how to woo the fair maiden, you can always come to me."

"Not that she needs any wooing; discouraging, maybe . . . but I appreciate the sentiment," he smiled. "And thank you."

She cheered up.

xxxxxxxx

Greyback was supposed to be tough, but he really wasn't.

At least, not in his human form.

Oh, he was stronger than the average person, but compared to a Slayer . . . let's say _bugsquash _was probably the nicest compliment Buffy could have given him.

He never stood a chance.

And the best part?

He didn't know why.

She would always remember the mix of rage and confusion on his butt ugly face. His punches always missed. His swipes were always a minute short. His usual methods (throw the victim onto the ground and proceed to tear out their face with teeth and, not to mention, totally gross nails that were in desperate need of a filing) failed on account of that the victim just wouldn't budge.

Buffy admitted, without shame, that she had toyed with him . . . just to see how mad he could get.

Also because he'd turned her best friend.

And maybe to show off a teensy weensy little bit.

And the grand finale? When she'd delivered an uppercut? Greyback had sailed thirty feet in a spectacular arch before hitting a nearby tree trunk and plummeting down.

The poor tree still had the werewolf's impression in its bark.

She had won.

And the Dark Lord had lost a whole pack following. Pun intended.

xxxxxxxxxxxx


	5. Fallen somewhere

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Joss Whedon, respectively.

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews.

xxxxxxx

**Fallen somewhere**

The monster's head soared into the nearby wall where it ricocheted, falling on the floor.

They were in Buffy's room. Sirius stood beside the bed, sword lifted, breathing hard. He had known what he had to do. He had known how to act. But despite all that . . . it was still a little alarming killing things, slaughtering them with his bear hands. He knew they were not human, but still . . .

Dawn hugged him. Buffy's friends hugged him.

Sirius let them.

Now was not the time.

Later, they all sat in the magic shop around a small round table. The scenery, the smells, the conversations, they all felt familiar to Sirius (of course they did, everything here did) but he was still distanced from it, as though he had only previously dreamed being here. It was a little like déjà vu.

It was also, despite having this body's memories, a little disconcerting to realise that he actually was a girl. In every physical way. He had only, truly, realised this when he'd spotted the vampire watching him earlier that day.

If Sirius hadn't been who he was (resident convict of twelve years in the worst hell hole ever, plus now, vampire slayer) he would have shuddered. But he'd seen and experienced worse things than a love struck vampire.

Luckily, Buffy's friends seemed to respond to Sirius's actions (or lack thereof) in a way that said that was how they expected newly resurrected persons to act.

He was waiting for Buffy's watcher to arrive, then he would explain.

He dreaded explaining to Dawn. The girl had hardly let him out of her sight since she had helped him clean up his cuts, wash, and get dressed that first night. She also seemed slightly dazed and vacant, as if she still couldn't quite believe that her sister was back.

That was why he dreaded. And that was why he would wait for the watcher. Giles would calm things down, Sirius was sure. Not just for Dawn, but for what he suspected everyone else's reactions were going to be. Willow, arrogant girl that she now was, would be devastated to learn she had so cataclysmically 'screwed up', he knew.

That was another thing.

Magic in this universe was . . . _very_ different from his own.

Willow would get tired after a while, her magic source depleted. Sirius had discovered this was because she drew her magic from the earth, the elements, the moon, and complicated rituals to certain deities. She asked for permission to use magic. Her body, after a while, was not equipped to handle so much power.

And so she became tired.

Sirius had thought that his own magic might have converted to resemble this world's magic.

The first thing he had done when finally left alone in Buffy's room was attempt the animagus transformation.

He'd stood there, eyes shut, breathing even, and thought of running. Thought of the feel of dewy grass under his paws. The sweetness of it wafting up in small tufts every time his paws collided with the ground. The scrape of claws into the soft earth . . .

Nothing.

Sirius had hardly been ecstatic, but oddly, not surprised. This body, despite being mystically, supernaturally, better than other human bodies, did not possess wizarding magic.

There went his one way to prove he was who he said he was.

xxxxxxx

He stood behind the kitchen door, listening.

"I thought you'd be . . . impressed or, or, something."

"Oh, don't worry, you've . . . made a very deep impression. Of everyone here . . . you were the one I trusted most to respect the forces of nature."

"Are you saying you don't trust me?"

"Think what you've done to Buffy!"

"I brought her back!"

Sirius snorted at that. He was with Rupert Giles the whole way. The girl should never have messed with such powerful dark magic. She had only been studying as a witch for the past five years. She might have been powerful, but she was still very new to the craft.

It was time.

If anything, this argument between two of Buffy's closest friends proved it.

He would tell Giles first, then he could help Sirius explain to everyone else.

" . . .Giles, I, I don't wanna fight I . . . let's not, okay? I'll think about what you said, and you . . . try to be happy Buffy's back."

"We still don't know where she was . . . or what happened to her."

Sirius stepped away from the door just as the watcher walked through.

Giles jumped. "Oh. B-buffy. You . . ."

"Quickly close the door," Sirius whispered. "I don't want Willow to know I'm here. And keep your voice down.

Giles did so, still looking horrified. "W-what . . . I didn't mean for you to hear―"

"Forget about that." Sirius grabbed his arm. "I need to talk to you. Come on."

"Is there something wrong with your voice . . .er, where are we going?"

"The cel―basement."

"I thought it was flooded."

"It is. That's why no one will go down there and interrupt us."

Giles didn't say anything.

He stepped through first, still looking bewildered. Sirius closed the door after him. They both trod carefully down.

Sirius sat on a step. Giles followed.

"This is very. . ." He looked around. "erm . . . wet. You wanted to talk to me?"

Sirius stayed quiet for a moment, then "You noticed I wasn't very . . . enthusiastic in my greeting of you."

Giles frowned. Stared sideways. "I expected a hug at least . . . but, yes, I did notice."

"I'm not speaking American either."

"Yes I, I can rather tell . . ." He took a breath, then froze, eyes flitting up to Sirius's. Knowing eyes. Eyes that finally perceived. "You're not Buffy," he said at last.

Sirius closed his eyes at the telling moisture in the other man's. To know that your charge was back from the dead, alive, . . . only to be deprived of her once more. "No."

"What are you?"

Thanks to Buffy's memories, Sirius knew what this man was capable of. The hard tone in the watcher's voice told him he'd better answer on pain of death.

Sirius told him.

Everything.

There had been a lot of actions involving polishing glasses with a checked handkerchief. Sirius was sure the older man would have paced, if it weren't for the fact that the cellar was flooded and the stairs were wet.

"My God," the watcher breathed. "Another dimension . . . so, so you're a thirty-six-year old _male_ wizard? With an actual, focusing wand?"

Sirius smiled. This wasn't the first time he'd been asked that. "Yes."

"Right. Right . . . But as long as you're not . . . this is . . . incredible really. Unbelievable. You're not evil?"

"I'm not. Confused, maybe, but definitely not evil. I just want to go home . . . and I need you to help me tell the others."

"_Hem_, well it certainly doesn't help that you have Buffy's memories. It will be twice as hard to convince them now. Perhaps if you'd shown ignorance from the start . . ."

"I know."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "That stupid, arrogant girl!"

Sirius did not need to ask who he was talking about.

"Well there's no use prolonging it," said Giles, hands hanging loose by his sides. "We can take care of the M'Fashnik tomorrow. We'll call everyone tonight and ask them to come over. We'll tell them then."

"What about Dawn?" Sirius asked, quietly.

"You've tried to tell her before, yes? It should not come as a total surprise. She's also spent the most time with Buffy out of any of us. In addition, she is made out of Buffy. In time, no matter how much she might delude herself, she should instinctively recognise that you are not her sister. If anything, she might help with convincing the others."

"But this is a little girl. She has no family left. She'll cling to me, simply because I look like Buffy. She'll try to convince herself that it's all right."

Giles sighed tiredly. "Either scenario is a possibility."

That evening, on the pretence of a perverse WELCOME BACK dinner (for Buffy or Giles, Sirius didn't know), Buffy's friends sat in the living room, listening. Dawn had long since run up the stairs, not wanting (or not wishing to want), to hear any more.

"So, so you're not Buffy?"

The red head, who was this dimension's version of a witch, stared at him incomprehensively.

"That's right."

Her brow furrowed. "But . . . I-I, I mean, just cause you can talk in a British accent, doesn't mean ―"

"I'm not Buffy!" he shouted.

They all jumped.

"My name is Sirius Black," he continued in a much quieter voice, though inside he was furious at Willow's misplaced tenacity. "I am a wizard. I died. Fell through the veil of death in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic while protecting my godson."

"Huh?" This, from Xander.

"I'm from another dimension. From England. I am not Buffy Summers. I have her memories, but I am not her."

Willow turned, imploringly. "Giles?"

"I-It's all true," he told them, hands in pockets. "I have made absolutely sure. There are certain, deeper, ways to sense one's aura than either you, Tara and Willow, know . . . Who you see standing before you is not Buffy. It is Sirius. Buffy is still dead."

Giles's conviction was all it took. Willow burst into noisy, gulping tears. The rest sat, bewildered, dazed, comprehending but not.

"What have we done?" Tara breathed.

"Oh God!" Willow was screaming over and over.

"Do shut up!" Giles finally snapped. "You'll have plenty of time to feel guilty later. Right now we have to get Sirius back where he belongs."

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"But―" said Xander.

"He is not Buffy!" Giles interrupted. "Once you realise that, the pain will be easier to bear. Sirius does not belong here . . . and neither does Buffy. You lot have made a terrible error, played with unnatural forces ― something was bound to go wrong . . . and Sirius has to pay for it."

"But Buff – _Serious_ was supposed to die, right? If we send him back . . . he'll be dead, right?"

Sirius did not have to consider Xander's observations. He had thought of the repercussions innumerable times. "Yes."

Silence.

"You're willing to die?"

Sirius scowled at the boy. "I'm supposed to be dead already. What difference does it make?"

"I don't why you're all so upset. I mean, we still have a slayer."

"Anya!" from all of them.

"What? It's true. Buffy's not totally gone. Sirius has her memories."

"But not her soul," Giles said quietly.

The only thing that broke the silence was Willow's harsh sobbing.

Anya crossed her arms, leaned back into the couch. "We should never have attempted a resurrection in the first place. Bad things happen!"

xxxxxxxxx

"Whatchya doin'?"

In response to her voice, the dark head whipped around. Sneered. "If you must know I'm listing the ingredients for a complicated potion I'm making. Now go away."

"You know, I thought, seeing as you're not teaching potions anymore―"

"Doesn't mean I'm going to stop brewing them. Don't you have somebody else to bother?"

Buffy crossed her arms. "I know about you, you know."

The tall man in front of her stiffened. "What do you know?"

"I wanna tell you a little story―"

"Please do," he sneered.

"It requires you to shut up and listen."

She was being serious, and knew Severus could tell. His lip curled, but apart from that last insult, he gave her his attention. There would be no pissing off the angry slayer. Despite his minutely arrogance and conceit, Severus had preservation instincts, and knew when to use them.

"Good. You should sit down for this."

"And let you hover over me?"

"Oh, I'm good at hovering. Sit down."

This time her voice held the order of command. Severus, lip curling even more ferociously, skin turning even paler (so pale he was almost a vamp), sat down behind his desk. Buffy sat in a chair in front of it.

"Ever since I came to this world, I realised that some of my powers had changed." She waited for him to say something like "how wonderful for you," but he didn't. Simply sat and stared. Well, he did raise an eyebrow, but because that was such a daily attribute of his, Buffy didn't count it.

"I no longer get visions, as far as I can tell ― probably cause of the whole Powers-That-Be don't exist in this universe thing ― but my radar sense, the sense that tells me when dangerous things are near . . . that's gone off the charts. So much so that I don't just sense supernatural creatures anymore. I can also sense humans. Humans with bad intent." She paused, waited a moment, and revealed, "You're one of the ones that I've been sensing."

He stared.

"The only reason I haven't said anything to Professor Dumbledore, is because I can also sense shame in you. Shame, and regret, and confusion. A lot of confusion . . . You wanna tell me what's going on?"

He drew a short breath. "No."

She ignored him. "Let me see if I can guess. You're bound by some secret wizard oath not to, and if you were to tell, you'll die a horrible, painful, shrieking death?"

He stared.

"What? No customary sneer?"

He got up. "You're a meddlesome girl―"

"I know there's a student in this castle wanting to harm the Headmaster."

He froze.

"I know you're somehow connected to that student. In fact, I even know who the student is . . . I'm going to ask you this once: do you want my help?"

Silence.

"No."

Silence.

Buffy blinked. "You know I'm gonna help you anyway, right? Because I'm guessing you're only saying no cause you have to. Unbreakable magic oaths are like that. You know, cause they're unbreakable."

"Get. Out."

Buffy stood, looked him in the eye. "I'm going to help you. You helped me when I needed it the most. You helped me understand, at least a little, of the part I'm supposed to play in this world. You were one of the ones responsible for giving me a purpose, even if you didn't want to. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to help you . . . You don't have to think on it."

She left.

xxxxxxxxxxx


	6. Fallen Down

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed (and those who read).

xxxxxxxxxx

**Fallen down.**

". . . and make sure to concentrate. Don't let your guards down. In fact, elect a guard to keep watch until I get back. Now, what did he give you again?"

Hermione opened her palm. In it was a tiny clear bottle of liquid. "It's sort of like, good luck potion," she explained.

Buffy nodded. "Good. Save it for when you need it."

"B-but, but what about the Death Eaters?"

She looked to Ron. "I'll handle them. You guys just stay here. When the slay frenzy ends I'll signal for you to come out."

Ginny frowned. "But, the Order―"

"Can take care of themselves. Okay?"

All six nodded.

"Good. Wish me luck."

Their eyes held a piece of their souls, open for the world to see. Buffy really didn't want to see that look in them. They were too young to have that look. War did that. She, at least, could help that look, that burden, ease just a little.

She opened one of the doors to the Great Hall, just enough to slip inside.

Chaos.

Everywhere.

She had been a Slayer for the past six years (almost seven counting the time she'd spent in this dimension). She had seen a _lot_ of carnage, and had been responsible for some of it, but she had never really had to go up against magic before. Well, except that one time with Amy's Mom, but that didn't count. Sure, right now, in this world, Buffy was immune to magic (even that Crucio Curse, or whatever its name was) but she still didn't know if she was immune to the killing curse. Only an idiot would have experimented with that, and Buffy wasn't one of those.

But these Death Eaters, here, in the Great Hall — most of their wands were projecting bright green jets of light.

Just her luck.

Of course there was no guarantee that they actually _were_ killing curses . . . and maybe she'd better stop with the pointless thinking and get on with the necessary slaying.

It was embarrassingly easy, how simply she disarmed them. A chop to the neck, and they went down. When some finally noticed she was there it was _far_ too late. Most of their number had been defeated by Order members, of which Buffy was one.

She dodged an aim from a killing curse. "That the best you got?"

A male voice snarled, "You."

Buffy blinked. "Me?"

He threw off his mask. A sneery face, gaunt, and lined with black hair, stared wildly. "You killed my wife."

Cold seeped down her spine. "Oh."

"Now you'll die."

Buffy blinked. Who was this jerk? It might have taken her a long time to get over killing Bellatrix Lestrange, but it would have taken her longer if Buffy hadn't already been willing to kill before.

She'd been willing to kill everyone for Dawn.

There was a dark, lonely place inside of her and she called it The Slayer. It might have taken her a while to admit that, but there it was. Of course that didn't mean Buffy would go on a killing rampage and slaughter every evil human she met. No, she wouldn't kill ― she couldn't kill ― but she _could_ hurt.

"And you're actually blaming me for that?" Buffy said, enjoying his look of bewilderment. "I'm not the psycho who went crazy when she saw a "muggle" fall from the arch. I'm not the one who couldn't contain herself . . . You're wife attacked me. I just defended."

"You threw her against the wall you disgusting little beast!"

"And I could have done a lot more," Buffy said quietly. "I could have crushed her brains, or snapped her neck, or ripped out her heart. Be glad she died quick, Strango. Besides," she shrugged, "it was an accident. Unlike you and your wife and all your pathetic little Death Muncher chums, I don't kill on purpose. I don't kill people . . . Let me give you a heads up. Your spaz spouse? H_ar_dly innocent. I've seen vampires with more soul than her."

Lestrange could not contain himself. "Avada Kedavra!"

Buffy was already five meters away when the curse shot past and blasted a hole in the wall. She sighed at his gaped look. "You evil guys never learn, do you? You. Can't. Get. Me. You're magic's too slow, and I'm too fast. Urgh, I really _don't_ have time to deal with this."

Before Lestrange could think to lift his wand again, Buffy was there, in front of him. It was amazing sometimes how fast a slayer was in comparison to normal people. He hadn't even seen her coming. Buffy waited until he noticed she had his wand in her hand, then snapped it.

He howled.

Buffy chopped.

He went down.

She saluted Bill, Tonks, Remus, and McGonagall as they rounded up the last of the stray Death Eaters, then ran to the double door entrance.

"That was brilliant!" was the first thing she heard when she opened the doors.

She blinked. "Thanks, Ron. You guys can come in now, but be careful. I've gotta go and stop someone from doing something stupid."

She ran.

xxxx

"I just . . . I can't now . . . I-I'm trying to concentrate, sweetie. Why don't you ask Xander?"

The boy was standing behind the counter with Anya, playing host to a customer who very much seemed not to want to be there. Sirius guessed it might have something to do with Anya engaging in a play of very suspicious looking hand gestures in an obvious effort to describe something. From the hand gestures, Sirius derived it to be something of a sexual nature.

Blue eyes rolled. "Fine. I will. But it's not like he'll want to help anyway. No one wants to help anymore. Ever since you brought back Sirius things have gone all weird around here."

Willow, Tara, and Giles, who'd been on the receiving end of Dawn's enthusiasm for the past half hour, looked at him.

He looked back, brow raised.

Their heads turned so fast Sirius swore he could hear cricks. Mentally, he sighed. Outwardly, he retained his cool façade.

Everyone had been acting more than a little . . . jumpy, and avoidy (sometimes these annoying Buffy-like words would pop into his brain without any provocation on Sirius's part). Even Giles, though he was the first to approach Sirius if his help was needed to describe a particular something from his home dimension. But Sirius didn't blame the man. From his memories, he knew that Giles had been extremely close to Buffy. A surrogate father.

Willow, however, hadn't approached him once, and Sirius was more than glad of that. He just couldn't find it in himself to like the girl. After all, she'd caused this current mess. If it weren't for her, Sirius was sure he'd be up somewhere with James and Lily enjoying a bottle of cool butterbeer by a stone fireplace. Yes, he'd had many fantasies of the like, and each one brought with it even more resentment to Willow.

He did feel slightly guilty (as well as nostalgic) whenever this would happen, because Buffy's memories allowed him to think back to a time when a shy, infinitely naïve, albeit stubborn girl, used to be the slayer's best friend. Now, that girl seemed to have vanished into the woodwork and in its place was left . . . well something that hadn't been before.

" . . . I don't know. I still think we should call Angel. I mean, isn't one of his friend's from a different dimension? That Lorne guy? Maybe he can help?"

"I think we should wait a bit til we have to call Dead Boy. What can he do? Besides weep?"

"Xander!"

"Xander!"

"I'm only saying . . . it's the truth, isn't it? He could barely stand when you told him Buffy was dead, Willow."

She frowned. "Well it's too late not to call him. I already told him about Buffy being alive―" her eyes darted "―I mean, I told him before we found out . . . before Giles told us . . . Oh God, I forgot to tell him about . . . I gotta go call him." She stood and dashed into the back rooms.

"Youch. That's gonna hurt," Xander muttered.

Once more, everyone avoided looking at him.

The Buffy part of him cared very much, but the more dominant part, _his_ part, didn't.

He stood.

They stiffened, and still avoided.

"I'm going for some air. I'll be back in a bit."

Before he could walk out, Giles whipped off his glasses. "I suppose we're acting like clods. I do apologise, Sirius. This must be more awkward for you than for us."

"I don't believe so, Rupert."

"Y-yes," he agreed, avoiding Sirius's sharp gaze, "you're quite right. But I still want you to be careful out there. You might have the abilities of a slayer, as well as Buffy's memories, but memories aren't enough, if you understand."

"I was planning to sit on the curb outside."

He blinked. "Er . . . good. If you happen to see Spike―"

"I'm to come straight inside. I know."

"He's unpredictable right now, and that makes him far more dangerous. Especially as we know that he can hurt you."

Sirius crossed his arms and leaned against the shelf. "And you still don't know why that is?"

"There could be many reasons," Giles said, and started polishing his glasses, "the most obvious of which would be that, well, that you're you―"

"I understand."

Giles sighed, and put on his glasses. "To be honest I have no idea, Sirius."

"It doesn't matter. Besides, I doubt he'd do anything to hurt this body."

Giles had winced at the word 'body'. "Perhaps. But still―"

"If I see him I'll come inside."

Giles nodded.

Sirius walked out. Sat on the curb. Thought.

A day earlier Spike found out from overhearing Anya and Xander's conversation in the Summers' front garden (which Giles had scolded them about later, given he'd strictly told everyone not to tell Spike because of the vampire's potentially violet reaction) that Buffy wasn't Buffy and was, in fact, Sirius. He'd not believed it at first but then, on the insistence of everyone, especially (surprisingly) Dawn, he'd cracked and thrown an uppercut at the closest bystander—Xander. Sirius, acting instinctively, had intercepted it with his face.

Spike had not collapsed screaming. Had not clutched his skull.

Then with Sirius knocked ten feet away he'd tried to attack Xander again―only to fall down in excruciating agony.

Finding out that Spike could hurt Buffy's body had been another unwelcome surprise.

He felt a body sit next to him.

"Hey."

Dawn.

"Hi."

She picked at her shoelaces. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. I know everyone's acting all wiggy. I know I am. We just don't know what to feel yet."

He looked at her. Eyes so blue they almost pierced his soul. Someday, she was going to grow into a beautiful woman. Sirius, nostalgically, was sad that he was going to miss it. "You're a very clever girl. And I do understand what you mean. I'm not completely stupid, you know."

"That's such a British thing to say. And no, you're not stupid, Sirius. You're wise. You're a wizard. Like Gandalf. You know, from the Lord of the Rings."

Sirius smiled at her smile, understanding the humour. "I know about him from the memories. He's immortal isn't he?"

"Yeah! Wait, are you? Because that would be so cool."

Sirius laughed. "No. Wizards aren't. But we do live longer than ordinary people."

"Really? How much longer?" Her eyes were shining.

"About two hundred years."

"Huh. Wow."

"I never thought about it, but yes it is quite, er, 'wow'."

She snickered. Then sobered. "You know, they all treat me like a kid. But you never did."

_Oh no_. "Dawn, I―"

"I mean you, Sirius, _you_ never treated me like a kid. Even Buffy didn't do that. But, I-I―" her voice went thick "―I just can't believe you're not her."

"Yes you can," Sirius said, making sure to look her in the eye, "and that's why it hurts so much."

She smiled, wiped her eyes. "Wow. You really are wise."

xxx


	7. Fallen Across

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed (and those who read).

This story is just about wrapped up, to let you know. A couple more chapters ought to do it.

xxxxxxxxxxx

He dodged a swipe and managed to sidestep an arching kick, but a vicious head butt knocked him on his bottom.

Wind whooshed out of his lungs as the vampire he was fighting jumped on top of him, wrapping its hands around his neck and squeezing.

He thought back to Buffy, and what she would do if she were in this situation.

She'd throw a witty comment, possibly a metaphor about the size of the vampire's genitalia, get promptly embarrassed, then reciprocate.

Sirius decided to forgoe the witty comment, but not the head butt. He watched as the vampire, yowling in pain, arched spectacularly for three full meters before landing jarringly on its back.

"Right, er, good work. Now stake it."

"Stake it?" Sirius questioned.

Rupert blinked, glasses glinting in the dull cemetery post light. "You do have a stake?"

Sirius focused on the book in Rupert's hand. _THE SLAYER HANDBOOK_. On Rupert's urging, he had read the handbook . . . sort of. He vaguely remembered something about carrying a stake at all times, but had been more interested in the medieval weaponry section. "I might have forgotten it?"

The watcher sighed. Irritably. Then took off his glasses. "Buff―Sirius . . . surely you have memories of Buffy carrying stakes―?"

"Actually, she hardly ever did," Sirius interrupted. "Unless specifically hunting. At other times I remember her using whatever pieces of wood she could find. Those large green rubbish things in the alleys are full of old wooden boards, and of course the trees in the graveyards speak for themselves."

Rupert put on his glasses and looked around, as though to confirm that there really were trees. Then he sighed, this time morosely. "You'd know better than me, I expect. And not to sound nitpicky, but _you_ are specifically hunting now."

Sirius felt something large knock into him. Just as quickly he landed on the ground again, this time on his side.

"Oh good," he heard Rupert saying dryly. "Let's give the vampire time to recover, shall we?"

A fist swiped his cheek and he tasted blood.

"How on earth did you manage defeating those demons when you first came here?" Rupert continued. "According to Xander there was a whole pack of them."

Sirius gasped, holding the vampire's head (and its dangerous teeth) away from his neck. "I don't know," he gritted out. "Must have been adrenalin. Plus the fact that I wasn't quite sure who I was yet. One second I was Buffy, the next I was wondering why I didn't have a pe―"

"Well become Buffy again and finish him off." The watcher was clearly getting impatient. "Attack as well as defend, Sirius. You cannot have one without the other if you wish to survive."

"If I could just get him off . . . ―_ow_! It bit me!"

"That does tend to happen around vampires." Clearly, Rupert Giles was on a role tonight.

But Sirius had had enough. And so had his bleeding finger. "Look, d'you have a stake in your pocket or what?"

Eyes staring at something only sarcasm could see, Rupert reached into his jacket pocket, palmed the stake, tossed it. It landed on the ground beside Sirius.

Legs lifting so they were now almost bent in two, he pushed against the vampire's stomach. There was a dull thump as it landed ten feet away. Sirius scrambled to his feet, yanked up the stake with a quick "Thanks", ran to the vampire, and staked it before it could think to shoot up again.

Or, that's what was supposed to happen.

"Isn't it supposed to turn into dust?"

"If you stab the heart, then yes," said Rupert.

"And the heart's on the left side I take it."

"Quite."

Sirius yanked out, lunged down, staked.

xxxxxx

"So. First official patrol ever. How'd it go?"

He sank down on the couch beside Dawn, stretched his feet onto the coffee table. He caught himself staring at the flat shoes. He remembered Buffy wearing heeled boots or some other girly footwear, skirts, singlets, make up, and all the rest of it, but Sirius had put his foot down when Dawn had attempted to dress him the same way. He might look like a girl, but he wasn't one. The only reminiscently manly clothing in Buffy's cupboard that Sirius had found ― and, been informed by Dawn, were currently half a year out of fashion ― were checked shirts, plain black pants (almost embarrassingly snug), and a pair of muggle trainers. Also a leather jacket, which Sirius had instantly taken a liking to.

"After the first time I staked two more vampires ― very professionally, I might add ― and twisted the head off a slimy demon that kept snarling 'Kartrach' at me."

"What happened the first time?"

"Rupert distracted me so I got bitten on the finger," Sirius answered. "And I missed the heart."

"Ooh, was it after that that you got bitten?"

"No, that happened before."

She stared at him, blue eyes concerned. "Do you need me to clean it? After all, you don't have your magicy thing to help you now, right?"

"Thank you, but I doubt I'll need bandages . . . unless vampires have, erm, rabies, is it?" The idea wouldn't leave his head. "I suppose they'd have to have it. I mean, they're carnivores, aren't they? Drinking raw blood, and all that. Vampires likely have the most unhygienic mouths . . ."

Dawn stared. Then shuddered. "Ew. You know, I never thought of that. And you are so right. I mean, they're even worse than tigers, right? And if a tiger bites you, you have to get a tetanus shot."

Sirius blinked. Did you? "Er, right."

"Oh my god, ew!" Dawn suddenly shouted, and Sirius jumped slightly. "I've just had a really disgusting thought. Buffy's kissed vampires before. I mean, she could be diseased."

Dawn, hesitantly, moved away a little and Sirius could not help the hysterical laughter from spouting forth. He had no idea what exactly he found so funny, all he knew was that he did.

Dawn simply stared.

Sirius laughed even harder. "I doubt I am, Dawn. Slayer blood must have immunity against those sorts of things," he managed.

"Yeah, cause slayers go around kissing vampires all the time."

That did it. He started up again. Dawn's tone, which reminded him so much of his own, was suddenly the funniest thing he'd every heard.

He quieted eventually. Merlin, but that had felt good. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so much. Recently, only Harry and Remus had ever managed . . .

"It sounds different," she said quietly.

Sirius wiped his eyes. "What?"

"Your laugh. It's sounds different from Buffy's."

The subsequent silence was a little awkward.

Finally, he said, "How did Buffy's sound like?"

She smiled, and thought for a bit. "I guess, kinda squeaky and hoarse all at the same time."

"Definitely different from mine, then."

"Yeah, yours is just hoarse. And doggish, almost. Like a bark. But its wiggy hearing it coming out of Buffy's mouth, with Buffy's voice, you know?"

Sirius smiled. "Yeah. I expect it is . . . wiggy."

Dawn switched the television on.

"_. . . Who is Albert Einstein?"_

"_That is correct."_

"You know, Buffy would never do that."

Sirius blinked, and looked to where the girl was pointing. "Right. Sorry." He quickly slipped his feet off the little table.

"No, no. It's totally okay. It helps with the distinguishing."

Sirius slowly moved his feet back.

Dawn smiled.

xxxxxxxx

"When are they supposed to arrive again?"

Rupert looked up, halted in mid-sip. "Tonight. A few hours after sunset."

"Right. Can't expect a vampire to travel during the day."

"The older ones can be . . . bold. Though generally they prefer to wait until it's dark," he elected to explain, and went back to his thick leather-bound text.

Sirius stared at him a few seconds, and went back to his own.

They were in the magic shop. He and all of Buffy's friends, sitting around the table. Buffy's sister was currently at school, something about a math quiz. Sirius, being quite good at school, especially Transfiguration and Arithmancy, had offered to help if Dawn needed any.

She hadn't.

"What exactly am I looking for?" Sirius asked, closing shut _Demons, Dimensions, and Decapitations_. "We didn't exactly cover alternate dimensions in Charms, for Merlin's sake. Until I came here . . . I mean I thought they weren't possible . . . in fact I didn't even know about them until I accessed Buffy's memories."

"Well why don't you access some more, quit complaining, and let us work."

"Xander!" Rupert and Willow said sharply.

"Sorry," Xander said, but Sirius couldn't tell whether he'd meant it or not.

The boy seemed to take Sirius's existence ― or possibly the lack of Buffy's ― personally, as though Sirius were the one at fault; as though Sirius hadn't been the one prevented from going to heaven, only to wake up in a coffin six feet under piles of dirt, having to crawl out, subsequently battle demons, deal with having his mind confused, save everyone, then leap off a tower with a fifteen-year-old-girl in tow. As though it were Sirius's fault that Buffy's soul was not where it was supposed to be.

Or he could be wrong. The boy might be angry at himself and his friends for performing the resurrection in the first place, thus having all that result.

That scenario was a whole lot more plausible, Sirius had to admit. After all, Xander had never been a shallow boy, and was far more intuitive than any of his friends. He was likely lashing out at Sirius because he just . . . couldn't comprehend.

Himself.

His friends.

The horror of what they'd done.

A quiet voice interrupted the silence. "Giles?"

Sirius, and everyone, looked up.

"Hmm?" said Rupert, still skimming.

"I-I-I think I may have found something."

_That_ got Rupert's attention.

Tara handed over the book. "There's a mention about a veil―" Sirius sat up "―and it sounds kinda like the one Sirius told us about. I know it really has nothing to do with crossing dimensions―"

"You're quite wrong, Tara" the watcher interjected. "It leads to one of the largest dimensions of all: the realm of the after life. You cross the veil, and you're instantly dead. I'd imagine that you're body would also deteriorate quite rapidly, leaving only an imprint behind. You're soul, in other words."

Eyes flitted to Sirius.

"Of course all this is meant metaphorically," Rupert continued. "No doubt inspired by sayings such as 'Crossing the Veil' or 'The Archway of Lost Souls' and the like. But in Sirius's world there really is a veil. Apparently one where departed souls ― no matter if the person crossed through the actually physical curtain or died in some other fashion ― wait around."

"But, but where does it lead?" Tara blinked. "Heaven or Hell?"

"Myth says either," Rupert sighed. "It's supposed to be a sort of holding ground, a limbo, until such time comes when one is expected to cross over. It's reputed to be a very lonely place. There are souls around you, but you can't really converse with them, you can't really see them, and they can't see you. You think you're all alone in there, but in reality you're one of . . . infinite."

"So that's why those voices . . ." Sirius began.

Rupert frowned. "Yes?"

Sirius licked his bottom lip. "The veil at the Ministry . . . I could hear voices from it. Whispering. The whispers got louder the closer I approached. It was almost hypnotic. The first time I saw the veil I _wanted_ to fall through."

"That's likely because they wish for the living. Specifically, they wish to _be_ living. If someone were to listen to the voices and fall through, one of them, if they were desperate enough, would likely come out and take that person's place. A sort of exchange."

Everyone blinked, and, as one, looked at Sirius.

"Good Lord. Sirius . . . _you_ fell through."

He stared at the watcher's incredulous face. "I did."

Willow, brow furrowed, looked between them. "Does, does this mean something fell out?"

Sirius looked at her, then at Rupert. "You mean there's a _thing_ wandering around the wizarding world?"

"Not a thing, precisely . . ." Rupert hedged.

"What, a ghost? That'll be alright, then. We have plenty of ghosts at Hogwarts."

"No, it definitely wouldn't be a ghost. Theoretically, ghosts have already crossed over ― 'into the veil' as it were. They've already chosen their after life, which is to live in the world that they left behind, but with distinct disadvantages. Being unable to eat and touch and so forth . . . which is why they're always so . . . unhappy, I suppose. But they also have advantages that physical beings do not ― unable to be hurt. Unable to die again, but still able to interact with the world around them.

"No, it's not a ghost. It's more like . . . well, I don't remember exactly. But I know I've read it." He picked up the book Tara had given him, skimmed with his finger.

Five minutes later and Giles still appeared to be reading over the same passage again. "Oh," he said at last.

"Watch out. That's never a good sign," Anya said, and bit the corner off a biscuit.

Xander spread his hands. "What is it, Giles?"

"What?" Rupert looked up. "Oh, erm . . . yes . . . it appears that, well . . ."

"What?" Sirius asked.

"Was there anything specific that you heard before you actually fell?"

Sirius had not been expecting such a straightforward question, and was a bit thrown. "Er, well I was a bit knocked out at the time . . . but I remember hearing as I got closer to it, as I was fighting . . . well it sounded a lot like banging, didn't it? I thought it came from the battle, but now that I think on it . . . it could have easily come from inside the veil."

Sirius thought about what that meant for a bit, then shuddered.

The thought of his body, rotting away behind there . . .

"No distinct voices?"

"Apart from the hundreds I was already hearing?" Sirius said dryly.

"Quite," Rupert said.

"What was the point of asking me that?"

"I was trying to determine if anything evil had come through, because if it had . . ."

Sirius slowly leaned forward, hands clenching, unclenching. "'Because if it had' what?"

The silence was an ocean long.

Rupert finally spoke. "The things that come out of the veil, that work as an exchange . . . their bodies completely . . . well they're not souls anymore. They develop . . . mass. They become, in essence, what they once were ― except for one very important thing: they are still sort of dead, like ghosts but with all the human motor functions ― the heart beats, they eat, digest, etcetera ― and like ghosts they're ―"

"Impervious to all harm," Sirius concluded.

"With none of the disadvantages," the watcher finished.

"Because they're immortal," Anya injected.

Rupert blinked. "It would appear so."

"And if the being turns out to be evil . . .? said Tara.

"Then it's hello Darth Vegas," Xander finished.

Rupert adjusted his glasses. "Yes, thank you for that assessment, Xander. As much as we all appreciate it . . ."

"I'm zippin'," the boy said, and pretended to zip up his mouth.

"Uh, guys, I'm having an idea," said Willow, breathing hard. "In fact I'm having a really . . . well . . . a really strange idea." She looked around, but avoided Rupert's and Sirius's gazes. "Do you think it might have been Buffy?"

At the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Rupert sit up. "What?"

"Do you think it might have been Buffy? Behind the veil, I mean."

"I really don't see how," Rupert frowned. "She had fulfilled her purpose. She should not have been waiting there. She should have gone straight to . . . well, wherever."

"_Unless_ the Powers-That-Be or whatever knew that I was going to be attempting her resurrection. They're supposed to be All Knowing and stuff, right?" The red-head's eyes were a little . . . crazed. "I mean, why else would we have gotten Sirius's soul instead of Buffy's? He must have taken her place behind the veil when he fell through . . . and she must have been the exchange. It all makes sense!"

"Willo―"

"No!" She stood up. "Why else would it screw up? I did everything right. All the rituals . . . I, I, I followed everything, exactly . . . it could have . . . it couldn't have . . ." she looked down, swallowed.

"Willow," Xander said gently, "you're forgetting the biker demons."

"Yeah, yeah, they ruined the urn," Tara added. "That was the reason why . . . we all agreed it was."

Sobbing, not wanting to listen, Willow ran out of the store.

Xander asked quietly, "Do you think it could be possible?"

Rupert was looking distinctly . . . frightened. "It might. It would certainly explain why Sirius is here instead. But then . . ."

The watcher didn't elaborate.

xxxxx

"She survived the Killing Curse, Ron! Of course she's going to be feeling . . . not herself."

"Pomfrey won't even let us see them."

"Why should she? What are you to Buffy? Are you family?"

"We're as good as," said Ron stubbornly. "We're the ones who welcomed her in when she first came into this world. How many times has she been over our place?"

"'When she first came into this world'?" Hermione scoffed. "Honestly, stop being so dramatic."

"What about Harry, then? He's our best friend. We should be allowed to see him."

"And don't forget, Hermione―"

"Weasley! Granger! Longbottom! Weasley! Lovegood!"

"Professor McGonagall!"

"Professor!"

"Eep!"

"What are you lot doing hovering outside the hospital wing? Be on your way now!"

"But Harry and Buffy―"

"And Professor Dumbledore―"

"Are resting. Which is what you should be doing. Off to bed with the five of you."

A head full of black hair and a stern witch's hat poked through the double doors of the hospital wing a minute later. McGonagall blinked. "Oh. Buffy, Potter, the students ― they didn't wake you up, did they?"

Buffy lied. "No. I was already awake." She glanced at Harry.

He caught it, quickly said, "I was awake, too."

"Good then. I'd best summon Poppy. She's having dinner at the moment."

She left.

As one, they both turned to look at the headmaster, sleeping in a bed opposite. "D'you think he'll be alright?" Harry said quietly.

She knew that wasn't really a question. "Yeah. I mean, the poison left him weak, but, if it hasn't killed him by now . . ." she shrugged. "Also, the nurse wouldn't have left."

"I guess."

Silence.

Buffy felt a stare. "What?"

He continued staring. "Nothing, it's just . . . I'm not the only survivor anymore."

"Welcome to the club?" Buffy tried. Her lame attempt at a joke.

"Something like that." He scratched his chin, smiled. "You know you're going to be hounded by the press, don't you? You're the wizarding world's new saviour now."

She frowned. Was he allowed to look so happy at that? "I doubt that, Harry."

"Why?"

His question was so serious, so straightforward, that she blinked. "Well . . . huh?"

"Why do you doubt that?"

His green eyes were so . . . expressive. Like Dawn's. "Why do I doubt that? I guess it's because practically no one knows about me, outside certain―" she had to stop. She had to stop because Harry was laughing his . . . dorky hair off. "What is it now?"

"You can't honestly believe that? And stop pouting."

"I wasn't . . ." Okay, maybe she was. "And I so _can_ believe that."

He became serious. "Buffy, think what you've done since you've come to this world. You've defeated the leader of the werewolf pack. You've join the Order. You've fought vampires. You've saved Dumbledore ― the greatest, most powerful, and most respected wizard ever ―. . . by now, Voldemort would have heard of you from all the Death Eaters we hadn't managed to capture tonight, and not just him, but everyone! Everyone knows about you."

"What? How could they? I haven't been here that long."

He searched her eyes. "Are you forgetting that you've registered yourself with the Ministry?"

"That shouldn't make a difference. It's not like a person will wake up one day and go 'Oh, I think I might go check and see who and where all the beasts in the wizarding world are'. Besides, the Ministry told me all my information is in a private file stored in the deepest, darkest, dustiest vault place they have."

"Actually," Harry said, "the person waking up one day thing . . . that's already happened."

She stared.

"Buffy, you're in the newest version of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. Hermione got a copy delivered a couple of weeks ago. Newt Scamander goes to the Ministry every year as part of his research, to see if any new beasts have been discovered that he hadn't found himself. Every couple of years he releases a new edition of _Fantastic Beasts_. You're right under _Shrake _and before _Snidget_. _Slayer comma The._"

"What? Those sleazebags! I told them to put Vampire Slayer!"

"Pardon?"

"I mean, you can't be serious."

"I am and, er, are you going to blink any time soon? You're eyes are watering."

She blinked.

"He even describes your mating habits."

Her head whipped. She was knew her glare was furious. "What?"

Harry ducked his head and blushed. "N-not that I read that bit. Ron did, though."

"Good, because whatever the book says it's not true ―! Wait, Ron did?"

"And he also describes your living conditions," Harry said quickly, "and what sort of powers you have."

"How the heck would he know? I haven't told anyone. Only Dumbledore."

"Er, Buffy," Harry frantic tone had her turning. "You might want to let up on the bed."

"Huh?" She looked down. The metal bed frame had twisted into a . . . thing. She let go. "Oops."

Harry shrugged and lifted his wand from the draws next to his bed. "It's easily reparable. _Reparo._"

The metal untwisted. "Nifty. Now what did it say about my living conditions?"

"That you prefer cold dark places, warm chocolate, and eat plenty of vegetables."

She and Harry both turned. Grinned.

"Professor! About time you woke up."

"Good to see you again, sir."

xxxxxx


	8. Fallen Something Awful

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: We are now on to the third last chapter. Thanks to all my loyal readers and reviewers.

Warning: This chapter is rated T, for one swear word. I don't believe it's an extreme one.

xxxx

**Chapter Eight: Fallen Something Awful.**

That night, Sirius patrolled one of the many Sunnydale graveyards. He had already, very enthusiastically, staked two vampires and was hoping for a lot more to come.

He needed a distraction from his thoughts.

A large distraction.

Willow's revelations about the veil, the disastrous resurrection spell, and Buffy, had been horrific and confusing, and Giles had taken himself to the back training room shortly after her own exit.

Sirius had not attempted to comfort the watcher, despite that persistently annoying Buffy-voice that lurked in the back of his mind (and would only crop up in dire situations), urging him to.

Giles should, hopefully, have something to distract him soon.

The others were arriving tonight. Sirius had decided to patrol before he went to greet them. To take his thoughts away from who he knew was coming.

The vampire with a soul — and half the rest of his company.

Sirius remembered everything about Angel. Well, of course he did. But he hoped Angel wouldn't act towards him in the same way the other vampire was. Sirius didn't think he would. Angel seemed more mature, and more understanding, than Spike.

Speak of the devil . . .

The black leather coat flopped against the vampire's legs as he sauntered ― yes, sauntered ― towards Sirius. He'd just stepped out from behind a tree, where Sirius had known he'd been.

He was also smiling softly.

The wizard shuddered, imagining, remembering.

When he had wished for more vampires earlier, he hadn't meant this!

Sirius was a man.

He might not have the physical body of one now, but . . . just thinking about what Buffy had done with this body. A girl's body. . . well he shouldn't have been shocked, he supposed. Buffy was a healthy young woman, prone to desire, and very attractive. The fact that he knew, for certain, that the vampire in front of him was thinking "hmm, nice" and not in a you're-my-next-meal way, was not Sirius's fault, indeed not. It was the body's fault.

But it still made him shudder.

"What are you doing here, Spike?"

The vampire stopped before a grave, threw his cigarette onto the ground, and sniffed through his nose. "Don't pretend."

Sirius was genuinely confused. "Don't pretend, what?"

"Lollin' about the cemeteries, stakin' vampires, beheadin' demons . . . S'what she did. Don't pretend like you know me. Don't pretend to be her. You're not her. You're not the slayer."

"I know that," Sirius said, now more angry at the vampire's assumption, than confused. He also thought Spike was protesting a little too much, as though he were trying to convince himself, too. "And I'm not pretending to be anyone."

Spike leant on the gravestone behind him, then sighed. "I know," he said, surprising Sirius. "This town needs a slayer. Any slayer. A real slayer, not a bag of screws and circuits. And now it has one. Wasn't your fault. Any of it."

As Sirius stared at the vampire, realisation dawned. "You're drunk."

Spike nodded, drew a bottle of liquid amber from out of his coat, un-twisted the lid, and took a swill. Then he offered it to Sirius.

Sirius took it, and sidled next to him. "Thanks." It had felt like ages since he'd last had a decent drink. Not since Grimmauld Place. Buffy's house was bare of alcohol, because of Dawn.

Once the burning in his throat had subsided (which didn't take long, as Sirius was used to Firewhiskey, and that was a lot more potent than this muggle stuff) he gave the bottle back to Spike. Watched as the vampire drank down half before putting it back into his coat pocket.

Then, quite unexpectedly, he started sobbing. Bleached head in hands, body crumpled over as if it was too painful for him even to stand upright.

Sirius inched away.

Not because he was scared. No, he knew he could beat the vampire easily with Buffy's skills at his disposal, but because Spike might decide, out of a fit of grief, to _hug_ him or something.

"Y-you look like 'er," the vampire was saying between sobs, staring despite the tears. "Know you aren't, but you do. Seein' you standin' there . . ."

"Sorry," was all Sirius could think to say to that babble.

"Can't you have cut your hair!" he burst out suddenly. "So you don't . . . So I don' have to . . ."

Sirius shrugged, "I've sported lengthy hair for the past fourteen years. I'm used to it."

"Soddin' hair," Spike muttered, then sniffed, and drew himself up. "Beau'iful hair." He reached out slowly, and Sirius knew what he was about to do.

"If you touch my hair, or any part of my person, I'll punch you so hard you won't be able to wake up for another hundred years."

Spike drew back, looking shocked. "S'not _your_ hair. It's _her_ hair, innit?" Then he turned away, mumbling. "You sounded just like her then, you know."

Sirius rolled his eyes. He felt exceedingly disgusted at the dark creature sobbing before him, but he felt pity as well.

Mentally, he snorted at himself. It must be this girly body. He'd never felt pity for any dark creature before, and would have cheerfully killed a Death Eater if Dumbledore had ordered.

His thoughts turned to Remus, but he shook his head. Remus was _not_ a dark creature.

And Sirius certainly didn't pity him.

He walked.

"Oy! Where you going?"

Sirius didn't bother to answer.

Spike was rushing beside him. "I-I didn't mean all that! You know, when people grieve they say all sorts of odd things they don't mean later."

"I haven't known you for very long," Sirius said dryly, "but even I can tell you're the sort who does that all the time."

"Now that's unfair, that is, using Buffy's memories like that."

"I wasn't," Sirius said, stopping to face the vampire, annoyed that he had to look up to do so. "Anyone with half a brain can see you don't have one."

He walked on, leaving Spike looking shocked once more.

Of course Sirius knew that Spike had a brain. He was a manipulative wart, and all manipulative people had to be very cunning.

He would have made a fantastic Slytherin.

Sirius shuddered as he leapt over the cemetery gate and stepped onto the footpath. Spike was getting unhealthily attached to hi ― _no_, not him. Buffy. He was getting attached to Buffy's body. Sirius had felt him, had known, that the vampire had been following him that night ever since he'd left the house.

He supposed that, since he was the closest substitute to Buffy, that meant Spike had turned his affections once more to this body (not that he'd ever unturned them) and was now trying to what . . . _woo_ him?

_Ew_, as Buffy would say. Just . . . ew.

That about summed it up.

He didn't even seem to care that beneath the golden hair, the shapely curves, the long lashes, a man, with a very male mind, did lurk.

Perhaps he'd figured he had a chance now that Buffy was gone. He had been trying to test the waters with Sirius, as it were.

Perhaps now he'd stop testing and sail away.

"Oy!" Sirius heard behind him.

Apparently, the ship was staying right where it was.

He turned in time to meet the onrushing vampire with, "You do realise I'm a man, don't you?"

"So what, never stopped me before." Before Sirius had a chance to gape, Spike continued. "Beside, you're not a man now, you're a woman."

"Physically, yes. Mentally, not even. As far as I'm concerned, that's what matters the most ― why am I even discussing this with you?"

He turned.

Spike followed. "Hold up. Just, just hold up for a tic."

Sirius stopped. "What? There is nothing you can say that can possibly convince me you're not revolting. You're a demon, for Merlin's sake! You don't love, you lust. Even if I really was a girl, do you seriously imagine I'd _want_ to . . ." he saw Spike's smug face. "No, I _know_ you'd imagine. You're too bloody sure of yourself and your supposed attractiveness."

Now it was Spike's turn to open his mouth, but Sirius didn't let him speak. "And even if I wanted to ― which I don't ― do you seriously think I'd ever abuse this body in such a way. It's not mine. I'm only borrowing it, as it were. And let me enlighten you: even Buffy detested you. And she was a girl, wasn't she."

"I don't believe that, else she wouldn't' have asked me to look after the niblet."

Sirius was having a very hard time controlling his temper. Spike was a thick-headed idiot who refused to see reason and he, Sirius, had always been impulsive. Add that to slayer instinct and . . . his fists clenched until they became white. "Look, d'you want me to beat you up? I'd be very happy to. Just keep talking."

"M'not _that_ desperate yet," Spike mumbled.

Sirius suppressed another shudder, turned.

"_Ooff!"_

And bumped into something hard, tripped backwards.

Large hands instantly grabbed hold of his upper arms, steading him.

"Thanks," Sirius said, and looked.

Blanched.

"You're welcome."

His true body had been taller than Angel's by a few inches, and he wished he was in it now. "Er, right . . . can you, erm, let go of me." He looked pointedly at the vampire's hands.

He was instantly released.

"Sorry."

Sirius sighed.

Another love struck vampire.

There went his . . . comfortableness.

xxxxx

"_No_, I don't wanna sign anything! I've already _signed_, much good did it do me! I told you. I don't want my name and information in there. Can't one of you poof it away, or something?"

"I beg your . . . poof . . . _what_!"

"You know, wave your wand and erase it!"

"I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than that, young lady."

"_God!_ You people are the worst . . . you have unlimited magic, but you don't know how to use it! Where's this frog guy? I wanna talk to him."

"Frog guy?"

"You know, the guy who wrote the book we're having a conversation about right now!"

"Great Merlin, are you talking about Newt Scamander?"

"Exactly―"

"I'll have you know that Mr Scamander is a much respected persona in the wizarding world. You should show him some―!"

Buffy hit the counter and watched as Probe Guy paled when he saw the cracks under her palm. "Respect? I'm not going to show respect to someone who's never asked my permission to publish _any_thing about me, especially when half the stuff he's published is a load of ―"

"Dung! Cursed. Me muggle grandmother fell in it walkin' along Bruton Street, and now it won't leave her alone!"

She and Probe Guy stared at the wizard who'd suddenly rushed up to the counter, brandishing his, _smelly_, grandmother and a piece of . . . well, crap, which looked like it was struggling to get away from his clenched hand.

"Report it to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office," said Probe Guy, and pointed to the lifts at the end of the atrium.

"Right―"

"Wand check first," Probe Guy interrupted.

Probe Guy checked Dung Guy's wand, then ran his probe over the other's body.

"You can leave now."

Dung Guy, with unconscious, floating grandma in tow, rushed off.

"You do realise you didn't check Grandma?" Buffy said when Probe Guy turned back to her. "Gee, with Voldemort on the loose and all . . ."

He jumped wildly when he heard the _it_ word, blinked, then ran around the counter when the other things she had said registered. Buffy caught him before he could chase after the man and his grandmother.

"They're fine. Nothing evil there. And I doubt any Death Eaters would _want_ to get close in order to curse something malicious into their clothing."

"How do you―?"

"I have these . . . senses, it's difficult to explain. But can we forget about that?" she said abruptly. "What I'm trying to say is that I want to get in touch with either the Minister or this amphibian person. And I don't wanna fill out any forms or sign anything. I don't want to delay it."

"I'm afraid it won't be possible―"

"God you people are so backward! Are you forgetting who I am?"

He blanched, then stared at her hand.

She looked, sighed, and released him. "I'm not gonna hit you, and that's not what I meant. Not the slayer part. I meant . . . did you forget about me capturing all those Death Eaters? Not to mention being three of the only people in this world to have survived the killing curse? Shouldn't I be shown more respect, have more privileges, than what I've been getting so far?"

Buffy hated to use her knew status as a scape goat, but this guy was really getting on her nerves.

Not just him, but all wizards in general.

Especially the Ministry.

And the Weasley twins . . . just let them laugh at her once more. Just let them!

She'd accepted long ago that she was going to be living in this world now, forever and permanently. She did not want to start it out stupidly.

With untruths.

In a text book.

That everyone could read.

And judge.

Just thinking about it made her so . . . these stupid, holier-than-thou, not respecting, prejudiced, thinking they can get away with everything, wizards!

Buffy sighed. "Look, if you can't get me _Toads_, or the Minister, then point me to Arnold Penworthy."

"How―?"

"He's the guy that registered me all those months ago, okay? I'd forgotten what floor his office is on."

"Erm. Fourth."

"Thank you."

"Wait!" he yelped.

Buffy turned.

"W-what are you going to do him when you find him?"

"Depends."

"Erm . . . on what?"

"Whether or not he'd deliberately gave away my secrets when he'd promised he wouldn't, thus embarrassing me in front of the entire wizarding world."

"Oh," he sweated.

Buffy went.

xxxxx

The cozy smell of warm cinnamon swept under her nose. The subsequent drooling in her mouth warned her she was hungry for the tea, which only Mrs Weasley had perfected.

"There you go, dear."

"Thanks, Molly." She paused, blew, sipped, then settled the cup in her palm. She observed her companion's glazed look. As if she was thinking about things other than right now and right here. "They're all right, you know."

Mrs Weasley almost jumped out of her seat. "What?"

Buffy smiled encouragingly. "They're fine. They can take care of themselves. I've taught them at least the basics of martial arts, and they have their magic. Harry's the best at Defence magic in the entire school, not that they're going to have to use it right now . . . They're gonna be okay."

She sighed, "I hope you're right, Buffy." Then burst into tears. "But I couldn't stop them! They're of age now! I couldn't stop them!"

Buffy moved over to sit beside her, a little bewildered that the woman was so . . . concerned. "Of course you couldn't."

"And I don't even know why they've gone off. Only that it's about You-Know-Who! They wouldn't tell me."

"Probably cause they knew you'd worry even more."

"But _you_ know!" said Molly, eyes blotchy and pleading. "I know you know! Dumbledore knows, and he confided in you . . . everything. And even if he hadn't . . . you've taken Sirius's place in Harry's heart. I know he must have told you."

Buffy inwardly frowned. Had Mrs Wealsey sounded accusing? Resentful? A little . . . envious?"

"We haven't really come that far in our relationship . . . and I haven't taken Sirius's place."

Mrs Weasley must have heard the hard tone Buffy's voice had taken, because she looked down. "You're special to him, Buffy. After he'd got over Sirius's death . . . he's never opened up to anyone as quickly ― besides his godfather, of course."

Sirius must have been one heck of a guy. Buffy was sorry she hadn't known him. But in a way . . . in a way she was closer to him than any living person ― and where the heck had that thought come from? Just because they'd switched places. He, dead, behind the veil. She, alive, taking over his life . . . No, she was _not_ taking over his life. "Molly, I truly don't know. He hasn't told me anything, except that they're all staying at the Dursley's until his seventeenth birthday. "

Her head shot up. "What? You mean they're at Harry's relatives' house!"

"Uh . . . yeah? I thought you knew? Isn't that why you're so upset? Because they're staying with those . . . obnoxious creeps?"

"No. I'd assumed they'd already . . . oh, I must speak with Arthur!"

She moved towards the fireplace.

"No! Molly, don't!"

The redhead froze, floo pot in hand.

"Please don't," Buffy said more softly. "I don't think I was supposed to tell . . . and like you said, they're seventeen now―"

"But Harry―"

"Is not your responsibility." It was the hard truth, but it had to be said. "In any case . . . do you seriously think that Dumbledore would let them go off alone? Without protection?"

"N-no, no, of course not . . . But Dumbledore can't, he's too busy protecting the school. Do you know what would happen to Hogwarts if Dumbledore isn't . . ." The witch's eyes widened as she finally understood. "Not Dumbledore. You. You're going with them," she breathed. "You're going to go with them."

"Yeah . . . but I still don't know what they're doing, or where they're going. But I have a suspicion. And no, I'm not going to tell you. You're better off not knowing."

"And my children are better off knowing, is that it!" She sobbed. "My children . . ."

"Mum?"

The slayer looked. "Ginny."

"Buffy? What's going on? What's wrong with Mum?"

Buffy stood. "I think you should comfort your mother. Give her something strong. I'm going to see Dumbledore."

xxxxx


	9. Fallen through the veil again

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: Second last chapter . . . eep! I can't believe it's almost over. Actually, I'm sort of relieved. I've too many unfinished stories on this site as it is. Thanks again to all those who reviewed. And read.

xxxxxxx

**Chapter Nine: Fallen through the veil . . . again.**

"I just came from ― no thanks, I'm full of cinnamon tea. I just came from Molly Weasley's."

Dumbledore placed the Sherbet Lemons back into the draw. "Really? And how is Molly?"

Buffy stared at him. "Right, like you don't know."

"She seemed perfectly fine three days ago, besides a slight headache, but that is to be expected seeing as we're in a war. Fizzing Wizbee?"

She was not going to ask how Dumbledore knew about Mrs Weasley's headache. "No thank you, I don't really feel up to _floating_ at the moment ― what is it with you and candy? Also, can you be any more unoriginal with the passwords?"

His eyes crinkled up at the corners. "They do seem to vex people for some reason."

"For some reason," said Buffy dryly. She shook her head. "Stop trying to distract me, Professor. As I was saying . . . a few days ago Molly knew where the kids were. Then she didn't. Now she does. I told her."

He nodded. "Very good. Now she shan't worry as much."

Buffy slumped in her seat. "She's worrying anyway."

"I expect so."

She mock-glared at him. "Must you know everything before anyone can get a chance to tell you? Can nothing faze you?"

"A lack of warm socks at wintertime, perhaps."

"What?" Had she heard right?

Dumbledore snapped out of his reminiscent glance at the ceiling, and smiled. "You caught me at an odd time of day, my dear."

_There was a non odd time of day?_ "Right. I guess ―"

"What did you come to ask me, Buffy? I thought we had disbanded all barriers between us?"

Buffy stared at the folded hands, the politely inquiring eyes, the small smile, and looked down. Sighed. "You know me too well."

"A fact that, I'm certain, you harbour no resentment over."

She smiled. "Of course I don't. You're the grandpa I wished I'd always had." She didn't look up to see how Dumbledore had taken that. "I-I want to go visit Harry and the others."

"You may do so ―" her stomach leapt "―when it is your turn to guard Number Four Private Drive."

"But that's not until a day and a half!"

"I do not want the schedule disrupted, Buffy. I must know where all the Order members are at all times. At least those who are supposed to be on duty. Do you understand?"

She pretended to think. "Disruption of schedule equals certain death and/or torture by Death Eaters?"

He nodded. "Precisely."

She sulked. "I hate Death Eaters."

"Most people do," said Dumbledore politely, and with no hint of sarcasm.

_The man could've been a Saint_.

Dumbledore broke the silence. "How goes the hunt for Newton Scamander?"

"Bad!" Buffy exploded. "The Ministry won't give me any info – I think they think I'm gonna kill him!"

Dumbledore's lip twitched. "Really?"

"Yes! And the Weasley twins are still being pains in my butt. Even Harry was laughing at me the other day ―"

"Are you quite certain he was laughing at you?"

"Yes . . . okay, no, but he was laughing at something. He was _reading_ something! And if that doesn't prove ―"

"Probably nothing more than a copy of _The Adventures of Martin Miggs._ Harmless. I understand that the two hundred and third edition has come out recently . . . I think you're being a touch paranoid, my dear."

"Of course I'm paranoid, Professor! But, but that just proves my point. I have to get that Newt guy. I have to. My reputation depends on it. I can't have a future in this world with _that_ hanging over my head!"

"Buffy, I myself have read ―"

She glared at him. Of course she knew Dumbledore had read it. The whole fricken wizarding world had. "If you're going to tell me that there's nothing precisely bad in it, Professor, I'd have to say that I don't believe you."

Dumbledore looked at her. Shrewdly. "Have you even read it?"

"What? O-of course."

"Buffy."

She pouted. "No."

"Well . . ." For the first time since Buffy met him, Dumbledore looked confused, "I don't really understand. How could you take offence at something you haven't even seen?"

"Harry told me all I needed to know. Plus the twins with their wise-ass remarks and stupid imitations. Thank God Remus hasn't seen it yet! He hasn't seen it, right?"

"The last time I spoke with him, no . . ."

"Oh, good ―"

"But then I let him read my copy. Now don't get angry, and please watch the chair handles, I'm especially fond of them." He stared up at the ceiling, hands folded. "I'm incredibly sorry, my dear."

"Then why are you _smiling_?"

"Am I? Forgive me, the whole situation . . ." he chuckled, apparently unable to finish the sentence.

"God," Buffy groaned.

Dumbledore stopped chuckling. "Would you like to read it?"

She sat up. "Yes! Yes please! I've been looking for a copy everywhere!"

Dumbledore searched through his desk, and pulled out a thin red textbook from under a pile of essays. Buffy snatched it. Flipped.

Despite all that had happened, Buffy still hadn't seen the passage ― as she'd told Dumbledore ― that had caused her so much frustrated anger. The Weasley twins had delighted in not showing her Hermione's copy. Buffy could have bought her own, of course, but that had meant supporting the person who'd wrote the darn book, and she hadn't wanted that.

_Come on, come on. S, s, s, s, s, s ―_

"Page thirty nine."

_He'd actually memorised . . .?_ She breathed through her nose. "Thanks."

She flipped. 39.

And read.

_**SLAYER, THE**_

_M.O.M _Classification:_ XXXXX_12

"What do the five X's stand for?"

"The Ministry of Magic Classification. Five X's acknowledge the most dangerous of beasts. In other words: 'known wizard killers; impossible to train and domesticate'."

"At least they got that part right," Buffy said. "I'm nobody's butt monkey, as Xander would say." She wondered if they'd given her five X's because she'd killed Bellatrix Lestrange. Considering these people panicked at the mere mention of things as harmless as Grindylows, Buffy would say she'd hit it on the nose.

She peered. "What does the little twelve mean?"

"Perhaps you should read and find out?"

She smiled. "I guess I am hedging a little." She read on.

_The Slayer (or Vampire Slayer) ― _"Oh look, he actually got it right" ― _is a beautiful castle-dwelling creature whose origins are unknown, though it is currently found in far north Scotland. Female and human in appearance, it can pass as a witch or muggle but is more comfortable residing in the magical world. _

"What the heck?"

_The Slayer's distinctive traits include enhanced strength, speed, agility, and the ability to sense when other dangerous creatures are near. It uses this extraordinary sense to capture disobedient vampires, werewolves, giants, trolls, and other miscellaneous beasts, which it then hands over to the Ministry._

_It is for this reason that the Slayer is thought to be a Ministry-bred creature as it had only been 'discovered' last year (if this is true than the Ministry itself has breeched the 1965 Ban on Experimental Breeding, which regulates the control of magical creatures). The Slayer also boasts a human intelligence, which only wizard-bred creatures possess (discounting centaurs, unicorns, and merpeople). There has been speculation that the Slayer is a wizard/vampire/troll hybrid, which explains its phenomenal strength and speed, its resistance to almost all magics, as well as the fact that it had been noted to use a club on occasion._

"I didn't think anyone had been around for that," Buffy speculated. "Besides, it was only that one time. And the stupid troll deserved it!"

_Its mating habits are similar to those of humans in that it can have up to one or two babies a year and, curiously, prefers inns in which to conceive them._

"What!?" Buffy's screech extended three seconds more than it should have. "How . . . they . . . he . . . that was only . . . didn't really happen . . . drunk . . . Oh. My. God."

She couldn't believe it! Her humiliation was ultimate. Half a year ago Buffy had gone to Hogsmede to meet Hagrid for a pint, as the groundskeeper would say. Instead the half-giant had bailed on her and she'd met . . . well, a guy. A very gorgeous guy. They'd gone up to his room at The Three Broomsticks, they'd kissed, and that was it. Nothing else had happened!

She felt a gentle hand pat her back. "We can say, at least, that one good thing has come from this, Buffy."

She lifted her head. "What?"

"It was all true, was it not?"

She hesitated. Maybe it was all true, but the author had described her so . . . like an animal in an encyclopaedia which, after Buffy thought about it, was really what had happened.

"Well, except for the last part . . ." She read on.

12_ The Slayer is given an XXXXX rating, not because it is a wizard killer, but because it is impossible to train. Its human intelligence deems it unnecessary, unethical, and laughable. _

She closed the book.

Dumbledore looked at her expectantly.

"Okay," she admitted. Reluctantly. "I guess it wasn't that bad. He tells the truth, at least. Besides not knowing about my resistance to _all_ magics . . . but I guess that's because it was published before my whole deflecting-of-the-killing-curse incident."

"I've always found him to be very neutral, and an excellent judge of teas. Knows precisely which ones his guests always crave for."

"I just don't like how he calls me an . . . _it_. And how the heck does he know all that stuff about me!"

Dumbledore looked patient. "You must remember that Newton Scamander received all his information from the Ministry itself, or through interviews with various eyewitnesses. He has never seen you personally. If you read the book you will notice he calls even the centaurs 'its', yet he still writes of them with deep respect. I suspect that the reason he dubs them, and you, so impersonally ―"

"Is the Ministry?" Buffy finished. "Yeah, I can see how they'd want to make smarter creatures seem demeaning . . . and what was with that whole castle-dwelling thing? I don't _always_ live at Hogwarts. On the holidays I live with you."

"And a very good companion you have turned out to be," said the Professor.

Buffy smiled. Dumbledore had always been there for her, ever since she'd come to this world. Even before that, he'd always been willing to help . . . what the heck? She hadn't known Dumbledore before she'd come here. Okay, so she might have seen him through the veil right before she'd fell out, but that didn't count.

She sighed. She had a headache . . . wait. What had the Professor meant by 'guests'?

xxxxxxx

The book he had been reading was entitled: _After Death_. Sirius had had put it down when the author described, very gruesomely, how the use of zombies could be used in necrophilic purposes when one didn't have a spouse in which to fulfil certain bodily needs. Now he felt like throwing up.

"There's nothing in here," he said, chucking the book onto the growing pile in the middle of the table. "Unless you want to know which fabric of underwear is best suited to your zombie spouse."

A chorus of "Ews" reverberated. Dawn scrunched up her nose. "I so did not need to hear that, Sirius."

"It's possible to make a portal," said Fred, looking up from her text. "Not everyone knows how to do it, but I'm sure I'll be able to manage . . . well, if I had enough money to buy all the right equipment, which I see now that I don't. Sorry."

Sirius slumped at Fred's apologetic avoidance of his eyes. For a second, he'd become excited. Besides, a portal wouldn't help as he wanted his own body back. "It's alright."

"I suppose that wouldn't work anyway," Fred babbled on, "because you'd want your own body back and ya wouldn't have your own body if I were to make a portal, which I can't . . . I'll stop now." She threw her text, _Tenus_ _Portali_, onto the pile.

Only Winifred and Angel had come to Sunnydale, while the rest held up fort back in Los Angeles.

Willow was "surfing the net" on the opposite side of the table. Dawn, Xander, Anya, Tara, Fred, and Sirius were also sitting around it. Giles was somewhere in the bookshelves at the top, and the two vampires were sitting as far away from each other as humanly (or vampirely) possible. Spike on the counter, Angel leaning against the ladder.

Sirius went to rake a hand through his hair, and promptly remembered that Dawn had braided it ― a moment of craziness on his part. "There's obviously nothing in these books. If only I still had my magic, I'm sure I could have summoned something."

He observed Willow glance curiously up at him from her computer. "You never did tell us how your magic differs from mine."

It was the first time that Willow had spoken directly to him since he'd told her his secret. He looked her in the eye. "For one, there are no repercussions. My magic comes from inside of me. I don't have to ask for permission to access it. It's mine. I was born with it. I don't get tired. I don't have to call up on any Gods. It's just . . . all there. It's sort of like . . . well . . . Slayers, I suppose. See, Buffy's blood is what gives her her strength and speed. My original body's blood held my magic."

Dawn got excited. "So by 'summoning' you mean you could have like, summoned a text book all the way from England?"

That was exactly it. "Yes."

"Huh, that is so cool."

Willow showed no reaction except to grimace slightly.

Sirius picked up another unread book and flipped randomly to a page somewhere in the middle.

_. . . add the six grams of butter, egg yolk, and four spoons of sugar. Beat until fluffy. Turn oven to 180 degrees . . ._ Sirius blinked. What tripe was this?

He flipped back to the front cover. It read: _The Big Book of Beautiful Biscuits: Madam Underlings guide to a pleasant afternoon tea._

"Rupert!" he called, while Dawn, Xander, and Spike started comically in their seats. "I think you've misplaced one of your cooking books in the demon section!"

Rupert's head poked over the landing above. "What?"

Sirius held it up.

The watcher blinked. "Good . . . Lord, I thought I'd lost that. Yes, erm, just hold onto it, Sirius, I'll be down in a bit."

Sirius placed the book on the table in front, then selected another from the pile on the seat beside him. This pile had been brought up from Los Angeles by Angel and Fred. He poured through, reading at a speed that he wasn't commonly used to. It seemed that slayer powers allowed him to manipulate his eye movements at unnatural speeds as well. He wasn't sure whether Buffy had known about this little trick ― he believed she hadn't, else she wouldn't have complained so much about the amount of homework the teachers had set in high school.

Sirius had learned of it a day ago when he'd picked up one of the many bills that lay on the counter beside the fridge. He'd caught himself wishing that the reading was already over and done with . . . and it had been.

He turned back to the book currently in hand. Nothing of interest caught his attention ― except the fact that some demons apparently had mucus secreted in their heads instead of brains; which Sirius wasn't surprised about considering the ease with which Buffy had dispatched various species' throughout the years ― so he chucked that book onto the pile, too.

"Merlin." He rubbed his eyes. "This is getting us nowhere. . ." He looked to his right. "Are you sure you can't help, Anya?"

"I've told you everything I can remember from my demon days, although most of the knowledge is lost." She looked twitchily at the book in her lap, then Sirius, then Xander, then Sirius. "Banal chatter would be more preferable to your continual questioning."

Sirius was taken aback at the attack. "So you want to chat about dull things?"

She nodded. Once. "Yes. That would be . . . preferable."

"I'm sure Sirius has neither the time nor the patience, Anya," said Rupert, climbing down the ladder, book in hand.

Willow stared wide-eyed at it. "Is that . . . ?"

"_Hem,_ yes," said the watcher, avoiding her eyes. "A last resort, of course."

She nodded extremely fast. "Of course."

Everyone peered curiously at the text hidden beneath the watcher's arm.

"What is it?" Sirius questioned.

"Dark magic," Spike drawled up at Rupert with smirking eyes. "Watcher's being naughty."

"I-I said as a last resort. I don't plan to use it unless there's no other option . . . er, erm, W-willow," he pointed, "is still searching the net. We have plenty of opti ―"

"I'm not using Dark Magic."

Everyone turned. "Not under any circumstances. I've fought my whole life against proclivities such as those. I'd be a hypocrite to use it now. D'you understand?"

Rupert stared at him, suddenly hard and serious. "Yes . . . But unlike you, Sirius, I have no such inclinations. Or limitations. As you all well know." He breathed. "For now, though, I shall respect your decision." He threw the book onto the pile, stood in silence, then made his way up the ladder.

Silence abounded. No one dared look at Sirius.

What had Rupert meant by that? No such inclinations. Was he harbouring hopes that Buffy might somehow . . .? _Of course. _

Ever since Willow had blurted out her theory about Buffy, Rupert had been . . . not himself. He loved Buffy, Sirius knew that, he would do anything, sacrifice his very soul if needs be, to save her if she weren't dead. If she had really been the exchange, if she had really fallen into the magical world . . . then Rupert would stop at nothing to get her back.

Angel broke the silence. "Let's keep looking. Fred and I will be leaving in a couple of hours, and I want to find something before then. There _are_ other options besides black magic."

The emphasis on the _are_ made it clear to Sirius just whom the vampire was addressing. "So far there's nothing in the books you brought."

"Bu . . ." the vampire licked his lip, looked down. "Sirius. Can I speak with you alone?"

This time the silence seemed uncomfortably forced. As though everyone _wanted_ to be silent, not that ― out of respect and propriety ― they _should_ be silent . . . and why on earth would Angel want to speak with him?

The vampire hadn't said two words to him since he and Sirius had bumped into each other. He'd had words with Spike ― blows almost ― but not with Sirius. They'd walked to the magic shop, took their respective places, and started researching. That was the extent of their commune.

_Must be something to do with Buffy, _Sirius thought. Though he couldn't imagine what.

He nodded. Slowly. "All right. He stood, about to follow Angel out of the room.

Dawn reached for his hand. "Sirius?"

He smiled at her. His little sister. Genetically, if not mentally. "Yes?"

"You're not Buffy."

"I know that."

She looked down. "You're probably wondering why I'm stating the obvious . . . you're not Buffy, but you are my family. For now. I don't want . . . I guess, I don't want you to get hurt."

Sirius was, well, touched. "I'm stronger than Angel."

Blue eyes looked straight into his own. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know."

Dawn released his hand.

Ignoring everyone currently seated, Sirius walked to the training room, stopped in the threshold, and looked.

Angel was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. Already he had begun to brood. His face bore a masculine sort of beauty, like Sirius had had once; though Sirius's face hadn't been quite so dramatically angled. He had once been described as a pa ― and what in Merlin was he doing? Now was not the time for reminiscing.

"You wanted to talk?" Sirius tried.

The vampire nodded. "Yeah."

"Well," said Sirius, going to sit on the bench beside the wall, "I know it can't be about me. Having known me for only two hours does not a friendship make."

"You're right. It's not about you, it's about . . ."

"Buffy?"

Angel looked like he'd rather be any place but right there. "It's just . . . hard. Seeing her, _you_, sitting there. I know you're not her. Your mannerisms are different. Your pitch in voice. The way you sit. The way you talk. The way you dress . . ."

Sirius was a little "wigged out" as Buffy and Dawn would say, at knowing that the vampire must have been paying strong attention to him in order to notice all that. He cleared his throat. "I'm sure you didn't ask me here to talk about my mannerisms."

"No."

Sirius recalled that Angel had always been monosyllabic. Or cryptic, as Buffy dubbed him. "Well?"

Angel put his hands in his coat pockets. "This is my last chance. If we find the spell soon, you'll be gone . . . I mean . . . When Willow called and told me Buffy was alive, I felt . . . You have no idea what I felt. But she isn't alive. She's dead. You have her memories. You can tell me . . ." He licked his lip. "You're the closest thing there is . . ."

"You want to know what her last thoughts were?"

Angel looked at him. Sheepishly. "Thanks."

Sirius searched Buffy's memories, staring up at the artificial light as he did so. How was he going to word this? He knew that Buffy hadn't said anything to Dawn about what to tell Angel. This was all very delicate, and the small amount of tact Sirius did own might not be enough to satisfy Angel without hurting his feelings. Sirius was more of an impulsive sort.

"She loved you very much," he said at last.

Angel's eyes, which had been staring at the spot on the ground, flew up to his own.

"I know that her feelings for you were very, _incredibly_, strong. She has never loved anyone as she did you. And she never will." And that was the honest truth. Sirius drew a deep breath. "Her last thoughts were of her friends and family ―"

"Sirius."

"― loved ones ―"

"Sirius."

"― her mother ―"

"Sirius!"

Sirius stopped.

Angle looked at him. "She didn't think of me before she died." It wasn't a question.

Damn the vampire and his overly observant nature. "No. Sorry."

"It's okay," he nodded. "I'm not . . . surprised. I didn't really think she had. She had more important things to worry about at the time."

"Like saving the world?" Sirius offered.

Angel smiled. Tiredly. "Yeah."

"But she did think of you a lot!" Sirius blurted. "Sometimes, perhaps more than was healthy for her. Strangely, it feels almost as if I'm betraying myself in what I'm about to tell you but, her feelings for you were too pure to ever fade. She spent at least three hours a day thinking of you. Not all at once, but . . ."

Did the vampire have tears in his eyes? "Thank you. For telling me, that is." He walked towards Sirius. Stared down. "Do you think I might be able to . . .?"

Sirius shot up, now completely horrified. "Don't push your luck, mate."

"I wasn't going to ask . . . ," Angel looked embarrassed," It's not what you're thinking. I only wanted . . . only wanted to feel her once more."

"Well she's not in here, and, and I am," he finished lamely.

Angel looked incredibly uncomfortable, and his eyes were darting anywhere but at Sirius.

Damn love struck vampires.

xxxxxxx

"It looks almost . . . unnaturally neat."

There was a snort. "I've been thinking that for years. But you can't talk so loud, Buffy, the Dursleys are asleep."

"Right. I'll be really quiet. Mouse quiet."

She followed Harry up the stairs, observing the raggedy, too big jeans and elephant shirt. With the amount of money Harry had, she'd always wondered why he never bothered to get himself some decent clothes.

He opened the door to his room. "It's still a little cramped. Hermione's working on expanding it."

They stepped in.

Buffy blinked.

_Cramped_ wasn't really the word she would use to explain the, the tightness that was Harry's room. Matchbox much?

"It's . . . small."

Harry grinned.

"Hi Buffy!"

"Hey guys . . . you're sitting on the floor I see. Oh, and eating cookies!"

"Cookies?" Ron queried at the same time Hermione said, "There's nowhere else to sit, is there?"

"Biscuits," Buffy said absently, "There's always the . . . where's the bed?"

"We transfigured it into a quill," said Hermione promptly. "There's no room otherwise, and Harry really doesn't want me to tamper with the foundations of the house."

"The Dursleys would skin me alive if they came in here and found the room three times bigger than it was the day before." He sat beside Hermione.

"Well, I'm used to sleeping on the ground, so . . ." Buffy blinked. She was what?

Ron chortled. "Does that come from waiting around for a troll to appear?"

Buffy frowned. "Umm . . . no.

"Are you alright?" Green eyes stared at her, concerned.

"Yeah. I just, um," she shook her head, "where were we again?"

"The foundations of the house?" Harry offered. "I'm actually thinking of changing them myself when I come of age, so when the Dursleys come in they won't be able to do anything to me."

"You know, I remember meeting Petunia."

They all stared.

Harry looked . . . well, cute, but also shocked. "When was this? You didn't actually leave your post to go and talk to her, did you? Surprised she didn't yell at me for it."

"No, um, it was at Kings Cross Station. Your Dad and I had just walked through the barrier and we saw your Mom chatting with this horse-faced oh my God!" _What's happening to me?_

Harry stood up, alarmed. "Buffy?"

She tried smiling. "I-I don't know why I said that."

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, while Harry looked at her as if . . . as if she were . . .

She could clearly remember the incident. Really clearly. "Excuse me." She walked out of the room, dimly noting that Harry ran after her.

Down the stairs. Through the front door. Onto the footpath.

"Buffy!" Harry whispered harshly.

She spun around. Looked her fill at the young man standing before her, eyes worried, glasses glinting, hair askew.

But he hadn't always been a young man.

He had once been a baby. A baby she'd held, and adored, and brought Christmas presents to.

"Oh my God. What's happening to me?"

"Buffy," Harry said.

She hugged him.

He froze. Hugged her back. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she mumbled. "I just feel ―" she gasped. And couldn't stop.

Harry held her away from him, eyes impossibly wide. "What is it? What's wrong!"

It all came at her in a rush. So much information. So much . . . pain.

xxxxx


	10. Fallen With You

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: Oh gosh it's been so long. I'm feeling acutely embarrassed, especially as I only had one chapter to go. I really have no idea why I just didn't finish this story. I suppose lack of interest was the cause, otherwise I would have finished it long ago. The time just seemed to fly by. I honestly hadn't realised just how long it's been. But now it _is_ finished and I want to thank all those who stuck by it. This chapter's for you.

Oh yes, I have also borrowed some excerpts from an episode of Buffy. It should be fairly obvious which one.

Enjoy.

xxxxx

**Chapter Ten: Fallen With You.**

"Sirius?"

"Hmm?"

"You haven't said – you haven't been saying much. How _do_ you feel about, you know, everything that's happened?"

He stared out of the window for a moment, the view so familiar, then turned. "I'm not sure, really. I don't know what to feel. It's all so . . . bizarre."

"That's one way of putting it. I can't even imagine what you've – what you've experienced." Harry came to stand beside him, scratching a brow in a pensive sort of way. He, too, stared out of the kitchen window. Various Weasley's and Weasley relations were still congregating in the garden, but Sirius had decided he needed some space. Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding had been like any other, except for the Death Eaters. Those hadn't been expected. Or perhaps they had been. The Order members and Sirius (mostly Sirius) had taken care of them easily enough.

"What was it like, in that other place?" asked Harry. His green eyes were almost hidden behind locks of messy black hair and thick-rimmed glasses, and Sirius thought that a convenient disguise for hiding one's emotions. His godson's tone had been nonchalant, but Sirius knew better.

"Which place? I think I was in several."

Harry licked his lip, looked down. "Buffy's home," he said softly.

"I met her family —"

"You told us that already."

"What else do you want me to say?"

Harry bit his lip. "I dunno. Buffy told us about the Hellmouth. I guess I just thought . . . Did you have to fight?"

"You're too tall," Sirius muttered, glaring up at Harry and hoping to avoid the question. When Harry merely stared blandly at him, he sighed. "Yes. I fought demons. And vampires. And all manner of evil fiends from hell. Was there anything else?"

"No, but — and please don't take this the wrong way — but you've changed. A lot. You're not you anymore."

"Er, he-llo?" said Sirius, spreading his arms wide. "I think anyone who isn't blind can tell me that. _Not_ that I need to hear it. Again."

"I don't mean the girl thing, I mean mentally. You know, er, emotionally." Harry threw his hands up. "I don't know how to say it!"

"I know what you mean," said Sirius.

They stood in the steadily dispersing quiet until Molly decided to enter the kitchen. "Oh," she said, looking startled. "_There_ you two are. Why don't you go outside and have supper, I've just put it on the table. Harry I know how you love my treacle fudge. And Buffy, there's a chocolate cake out there with your name on it."

"In a minute, Molly," said Sirius, adopting an America accent. "I just need to talk to Harry for a bit."

"Never thought you'd pass up cake, dear, but that's all right. I've just popped in for the kettle. It was my great-grandmother's," Molly continued, rummaging through the bottom cupboards beneath the sink. "I'd never thought to place an unbreakable charm on it, so I didn't want to risk a summoning spell. I'll remedy that soon enough. Goodness it's dusty. Haven't used it in years, I suppose." Molly unearthed a beautiful, but indeed dusty, kettle. The rim was gold and silver and had runes around it, while the rest was transparent. "Lovely, isn't it?"

Sirius and Harry murmured in the affirmative, watched as Molly banished the dust and, with a final hint for them to go outside and eat, strode out of the kitchen.

"Why don't you want to tell anyone?" Harry asked as the kitchen door closed.

Sirius couldn't believe Harry didn't know. "Because it's too weird! They'll look at me all funny."

"I don't look at you funny," said Harry. At Sirius's narrowed look, he blushed and amended. "Do I? Please tell me I don't."

"Not as much as Remus at any rate," Sirius was forced to admit. "Maybe I shouldn't have told him."

"What? That's stupid, of course you should have. He's your best friend."

"Yes, but I know where he's coming from," Sirius sighed, leaning on the sill. Which, he thought resentfully, he could now do without straining his back because he was short enough to. "I mean, think of it this way: if Ron had suddenly been pushed through the veil, then came back in the body of the person who took his place, would you feel a bit confused? Baffled? Disbelieving?"

"I'd feel more than that," Harry admitted reluctantly.

"Exactly."

"But how is that any different to what _I_ feel now? I may not have been your best friend but I was your fam — I was your godson. You were my only family."

Hearing that, a searing heat filled his chest. Guilt. God, he was an utter bastard. Not once had he thought of Harry for a long length of time in the other dimension. All he'd thought about had been himself. He'd never thought how Harry would be coping, without him. "I'm sorry I left you alone."

Harry gave a short, bitter laugh, so incongruous to how he was as a person that Sirius stared. "_You're_ sorry. Sirius, I got you _killed_! It was _my_ stupidity that got you killed. If I'd only listened to Hermione. If I'd only remembered about the mirror." His gaze fell to his shoes. "I'm so sorry."

He tried to curb a sniff, but didn't quite make it.

Sirius moved, he moved so fast that he surprised himself, and grasped Harry, gently, by the shoulders. "Never. Say. That. Again. I would do it a thousand times over again if it meant that you lived. That you were healthy. D'you understand me."

Harry looked down at him, brilliant green eyes wet with unshed tears. Then he frowned. "This is so odd. I know you're not Buffy but . . ." His eyes widened, full of fear. "Merlin I'm so sorry. I know you don't like to talk about it."

"It's all right."

"It's not!"

"It is if I say it is," said Sirius, now getting impatient.

Harry jerked away from him. Paused. Then: "I miss her."

Oh.

"I only just got to know her, you know, in these last six months. I–I wasn't very nice to her when we first met. I mean, I tried not to speak to her. I sort of couldn't. All I kept thinking about was you, and why she fell out of the veil instead. Why couldn't _you_ have fallen out? She tried, you know, to get you out." Harry picked at the splintered wood at the corner of the sill, staring into the garden.

"I know." He had a new set of memories now, ones that had stayed with the body. Just like the first time. Bizzare didn't even cover his life.

"She threw Bellatrix's body in, but you didn't come. And that's because you weren't there, isn't it?"

Harry turned with his query and Sirius tried not to stare. He looked so grown up and Sirius had almost missed it. Almost. "Yes," he managed to say around a suddenly tight throat. "Around that time I was probably crawling my way out of Buffy's grave."

There was a sudden pitched gasping noise, and Sirius realised that it had come from his godson, who hadn't quite managed to stifle a sob.

"I shouldn't have said that," Sirius said quickly. _How much more stupid can I get? _"You shouldn't have had to hear tha —"

"Stop it!" Harry yelled, fists clenching. "I'm glad you told me! I don't want you treating me like a kid too! Not you."

Pause. "All right."

"I just . . ." Those green, green eyes stared, imploring. "I don't know what to feel anymore, Sirius. I miss her, but then I see you, in her body, and I know it's you, and that makes me . . ." Lids fell. And rose. "That makes me so happy. But then I realise she isn't there, that she's really gone, and that you're you but you're not you, and that makes me furious. For some stupid reason. I think I think it's unfair. Like, I have you back, finally, but I can't look at you without seeing _you_. I can never look at you again as you, and . . . I don't know what to do. I'm confused."

Sirius fought the gulp in his throat. "Wow."

"Yeah. I can't believe I said that either." Harry fidgeted, looking anywhere but at Sirius. "Maybe, maybe if you told me how you came to be here . . . why haven't you told me?! You told Professor Lupin and Dumbledore. Don't I deserve to know?"

"Yes. You do."

Harry looked stumped. "I thought you would have argued a bit more."

"Well, you reminded me that you're not a child anymore." He crossed his arms. "It hurts to admit that, but there you go."

"So will you tell me? Now?"

The wizard turned slayer plonked his bottom in the nearest chair and gestured for Harry to do the same. "Where should I start?"

"When you found out how you could cross over into our world again?" Harry suggested, eyes now eagre, though still slightly wet.

"Ah." Sirius paused, considered. "You know, it isn't like I stumbled on some big secret. It was actually quite boring."

"Boring?"

"We'd been researching for hours until Rupert finally found something. Then he took forever to work it all out and explain. The next day Willow performed the ritual, and here I am."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Great job, Sirius. Now the longer version if you please."

"All right, but like I said, it's not very interesting." He hadn't wanted to think about the people he'd left behind in the other dimension. He hadn't wanted to think about them for days. Ever since he'd got back. But he forced his mind to think now. He forced himself to remember . . .

"_If, indeed, it was Buffy that exchanged places with you, you will switch souls with her," Rupert lectured, polishing his glasses. "If it wasn't Buffy, then you will be doomed to live behind the veil until you find the motivation to cross over." He had placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "And I'm certain you shall, Sirius. You have a very strong will."_

"_I'm pretty sure I don't want to spend eternity wandering limbo. I'll be fine." Though he thought he didn't sound too convincing._

"_I'm sure." Rupert's gaze turned uncertain. "Of course there is still yet another possibility: If it wasn't Buffy but someone else, then _we_ shall have to deal with the repercussions. It will be that person's soul that will enter the body you are currently residing in, and you will enter their body."_

"_But if it's evil —"_

"_We shall deal with that when it gets here."  
_

"_Don't let them trick you," Sirius urged. "It could have been easy for me to do so. I had all of Buffy's memories. I could even talk in an American accent if I wanted to. I chose not to because I didn't want to deceive you, and I wanted to get back home if I could."_

"_We know, and we'll keep it in mind. I can read auras, don't forget. Now, we just have to, er," The watcher swung his hands about, gesturing to the ground before them, "rehearse your position."_

"_You were serious about the coffin thing?!" Sirius blurted._

_Rupert blinked. "We're not going to bury you. Look, I-I realise it sounds morbid, Sirius, but we have to recreate exactly what happened that night. Down to the precise detail."_

"_And you're sure that doesn't include burying me?"_

"_I'm positive. Now get to it."_

"_I feel a bit ridiculous practising in the magic shop. And there isn't even a coffin to lie in!"_

"_Weren't you just complaining about having to —? Oh, never mind. Just do it. I'll go and make tea."_

"_Make me one too, would you?"_

_Rupert paused. Smiled sadly. "At times like these I remember you aren't her."_

_Meaning he usually didn't? Sirius opened his mouth, closed it. He didn't know what to say._

"_Right." Rupert shifted and frowned slightly, at himself more so than anything else. "I'll make that tea shall I? Y-you just get started. Remember; lie with your feet facing north."_

"_Which way's north?"_

"And that's pretty much it," said Sirius now, leaning back in his chair. "Willow said the spell; I started getting Buffy's memories straight away. That is, memories of her time here. And now that I have all of her memories, I can say for certain that she started getting mine too. You were there when they hit her all at once."

"Yeah." Harry licked his lip. "She wouldn't wake up for days, and when she did she was you."

They both smiled. Sadly, quietly, but it was a step in the right direction. A healing step. Sirius laughed suddenly. "It's strange. I didn't even realise until now."

"What didn't you realise?"

"That I haven't even met her at all. I know her as well as I know myself — more than I'll ever know anyone else — and I haven't even met her or spoken to her, yet I share her face. It's odd, that's all. Sometimes it feels as if she's with me still. Inside me." He realised he'd been staring into space, blinked, then smiled. "Why don't we go and have supper?"

Harry stood and Sirius followed. "Are you ever going to tell anyone besides me, Dumbledore, Remus, and Tonks about, well, you?"

Harry was certainly tenacious today. Sirius thought of sighing, but reconsidered. It wasn't worth the expulsion of breath. "When the time is right. Can't risk the Prophet finding out."

As they walked out of the door and into the back garden Sirius thought he heard his godson whisper, "I missed you," and something else more personal along those lines. He grinned. He would miss the other world, he would miss his new friends — he would especially miss Dawn, his now real life sister that also shared his Summers' blood — but he was glad to be back. And if he had to be a girl for the rest of his life to have his life, than he would be so. He had Harry back. He had his life back.

That was all that mattered.

(Of course he would try spells and potions first, before giving up on having, er, man-parts. He wasn't quite ready to throw that part of his life away. No indeed).

xxxxxx

"_I know I haven't been here for long, but I know each of you very well." He pointed to his head. "Well, the memories provided everything. I don't feel as much for you as Buffy did, but I do feel, even if it is a distanced feeling."_

"_I-I never did realise as to the extent of your memories. How clearly do you remember?"_

"_I suppose the closest I can describe is . . . well it's as if I'm looking at it through fog. It was a lot clearer when I first came here, but lately I've had to access some memories myself. It's there for —"_

"Buffy? Buffy?"

She jerked out of her haze, blinking around. "What? Yes. Huh?"

"Xander's come to take me to school."

"Xander?" She looked around. Froze. "Xander!"

"Hey Buff," her friend grinned. He was holding a long rolled up piece of paper, which he tipped to his head in greeting, and wore a dark blue business suit. "You know I rang the door bell like, twenty times, but nobody answered so I figured I'd let myself in seeing as I saw you sitting on the couch through the window."

"Oh. Window. School. Right." She stood from the couch, looked at her sister. "Dawn you haven't eaten. I made cereal."

"Okay," said Dawn absently.

Buffy blinked. Her little sister was busy perusing her extremely heavy math textbook, and hadn't even looked up. Buffy turned instead to Xander. "You're unconscionably spiffy today."

"Client meeting. How exactly do you make cereal?" Xander quipped as Buffy stalked to the kitchen, the rest following.

She tossed back her head. "I pore in the milk."

"I pore in the milk, too. Everybody pores in the milk. Let there be milk, we say," joked Xander.

"I do it slayer style."

"As opposed to . . .?" Xander gestured with his hand.

Buffy smiled. "Shut up. You want something?"

"No. I'm good. How are you?"

"I'll tell you later?" she tried.

Xander placed his roll of paper onto the bench. "I was gonna show you the blueprints for the new high school and how the Hellmouth is now sitting underneath the principle's office —"

"Does that mean he's evil?" Dawn interjected, looking up from her bowl.

"— but I think we should talk about you instead."

"We should?" said Buffy.

"Come on, Buffy, we're not stupid here. Something's bothering you. We've all noticed it. Even Dawn."

They looked at Dawn. Her eyes widened. "What?"

Buffy sighed. Drew a seat from under the bench. Sat. "It's been almost a year."

Xander nodded. "Ah-ha."

Buffy frowned, looked up. "It's been almost a year."

"Almost a year? Oh! Almost a year since . . . oh."

"Since Sirius left us," said Dawn, her gaze dropping briefly to her cereal, then back again. She started upon noticing everyone staring at her. "I'm all right. Just because I'd spent the most time out of all of you with him, and shared a house with him, and listened to his cool stories, and made his hair, and let him help me with my homework, doesn't mean I miss him. Much."

"Everyone knows you miss him, Dawn," said Xander. "But that's okay. He was like your big brother, only in Buffy's body." He thought about that. "That's kinda disturbing, but hey, compared to Hell Goddesses it's a walk in the park for us right? And sorry Buffy, I mean not to sound unpleasant, but you're thinking about this now because . . .? Like you said it's been almost a year. You feelin' a bit nostalgic?"

"I'm always feeling nostalgic these days." Damn it. She hadn't meant to say that.

"You miss the people back there?"

"Yeah. I-I miss Harry. And Remus. And Dumbledore. God I miss that old man." She hesitated. "And Sirius. I . . . I miss Sirius. I feel like a part of me has gone."

"Of course you do you have his memories."

"You don't know how right you are, Dawn," said Buffy quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I have _all_ of his memories. Every single one. Even before he inhabited my body."

Xander stared. "Wow," he said. Slowly.

Buffy realised the atmosphere had gotten a little edgy. She cleared her throat. "Yeah, so, to suddenly be cut off from essentially another part of myself, it's a lot . . ." She blinked, looked around awkwardly. "Well it's a lot."

"So technically — and I can't believe I'm going to say this because it's just too weird — you feel that you _are_ Sirius, right? Not just Buffy, but Sirius too?"

"I guess."

"Holy . . . Do you think he feels the same?"

"He has to. I-I'm sure he has to."

"You're sure?" asked Dawn. Her cereal had been long since abandoned.

"It's like, sometimes, I can feel him still. Inside me."

Xander laughed. "Like you're sharing the same soul or someth — oh God you're not joking, are you."

xxxxx

A/N: Yes, it's the end of _Fallen_ and, I hope, it finished in the same style with which it had started. There's a reason why I chose to end it this way. I'd never planned for _Fallen_ to have a perfect ending. I wanted it to be semi-happy and semi-sad. I wanted it to be a little frustrating and a little content.

Thanks again.

Azraeos.


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